Pitch It To Me
by SiBheagSiMhor
Summary: I, Alice Longbottom, love Quidditch. My best friend, Lily Potter, somehow talked me into trying out this year. Now I just have one tiny problem: I'm as coordinated as a troll in dancing shoes. I'm also the first in my family to know a Quaffle from a Snitch. Oh, and did I mention said best friend's gorgeous yet insufferable brother? Yep, I lied. That's definitely more than one.
1. Quaffling About

**Chapter One: Quaffling About**

**A/N: Lately I've been engrossed in Harry Potter's next-gen fandom. Jo Rowling created a fantastic world, and I'd like to share my head canon with you, my wonderful readers. Please enjoy my fanfiction, Pitch It to Me.**

**Disclaimer: Do I look like Jo Rowling to you? No? So yeah, I don't own her book or her characters. OCs, on the other hand, are most definitely mine (and I hope you'll like them!)**

I'm screwed. Utterly, completely, hopelessly screwed. If there were a spell that could summon a black hole beneath my feet, I'd be content to scream those magical words and disappear, at least for the next hour. Actually, make that three...days...ah, to hell with it; I'd happily just vanish until graduation or at least the end of fifth year, cursing my no-good best friend all along the way.

"Why in Merlin's name did I let you talk me into this?" I groan, flopping backwards into my bed, still a bit groggy. If there was one good thing about the Gryffindor girls' dorms, it was the sheer tardiness-inducing comfort of the beds, and waking up at six-thirty in the morning only amplifies the gravitational pull of the sheets. To top it all off, today was only the third day of school, and my body still seemed to believe it was summer break.

Aforementioned best friend, dressed in her full crimson-and-gold glory, just shoots me a quizzical look with her wide, light-brown eyes. "Oh come on, Alice, you'll be _fantastic._ We only spent, what, the entire bloody summer getting ready? Besides, you're a natural."

"Says Lily Luna Potter, Quidditch Goddess Extraordinaire," I scoff. "Lil, next to you I'm practically a monkey on a broomstick. A very fat, very clumsy monkey. And that monkey would rather lie on this nice, soft bed that won't laugh at her when she inevitably breaks some record for stupidity on the Hogwarts pitch."

"Fat? If Alice Longbottom is fat, then most of the girls in the castle might as well be sumo wrestlers," Lily deadpans with one raised eyebrow. If I weren't so distracted, I'd probably pry into what exactly these wrestlers are, but I just brush off my curiosity; it's probably an obscure muggle thing that Lily's grandpa told her.

"Well, I certainly feel like I weigh a freaking ton every time I try to make a turn. Remember that time I crashed into you while trying to catch a pass from Claire?"

"Okay, your flying could use a bit of, er, refinement, but I'm sure everyone will notice your talent with that crazy throwing arm," she cheerfully replies, giving me the patented nothing-gets-Lily-Potter-down smile. "Now come on, tryouts are starting soon and I don't feel like explaining to James why our prospective Chaser thinks she's a jungle animal."

I giggle before slowly scooting myself upright, then off the side of the bed, to pick up my broom.

When it comes to people and my friendship with Lily, there's only three types. One- strangers who only know us through our famous parents; they tend to assume that we're friends because our fathers got along so well, or because we've been roommates since being sorted into Gryffindor. Two- most people, who connect the dots. We were both named after our paternal grandmothers, both of whom sacrificed their lives in the war against Voldemort. We both grew up as the daughters of war heroes, and we were thus both eagerly welcomed by all of Hogwarts for that reason. But only the third type, our close friends and family members, know the truth, which comes in an unexpectedly silly anecdote. We were both five, and it was just another visit to the Potter household; Harry and Ginny have always been close friends of my father's. And yes, Harry and Ginny; the most celebrated hero in the wizarding world and the most decorated female Chaser in Quidditch history have always insisted that my brother and I call them that instead of Mr. and Mrs. Potter. At that point in life, though, I called them "Uncle 'Arry" and "Auntie 'Inny", which they didn't mind at all; in fact, they were not-so-secretly delighted. Anyways, where was I? Oh, right- my fistfight with Lily Potter. My five-year-old self had decided that it would be a good idea to show Lily my new doll, charmed to give a simple response when asked a question. Well, in her infinite diplomatic wisdom, Lily called it a stupid toy and said that the big kids played a game called "Quidditch", citing James and Al as an example. Even five-year-old-me didn't think two boys age six and seven were "big kids", and one thing led to another. When Dad finally saw me pulling on Lily's bright red ponytail, his face went a comical shade of red while Mom and Ginny were having a good laugh. We were only stopped by a chuckling Harry, who firmly but gently pressed Lily to apologize. It took her a few minutes to come around, but eventually we made up in the way that little kids do. She confessed that just a week ago she would have loved my doll, but her eyes were opened to the wonderful game of Quidditch. Of course, I don't remember most of that; some of the details were filled in later by Frank, who, like any older brother, still teases me about that little episode to this day. Oh, and if that wasn't embarrassing enough, my dad's the Herbology professor here. Thank goodness it's not my mom, though, or the entire castle would know all about my horrible childhood shenanigans.

But yeah, that was the rocky beginning to not one, but _two_ beautiful relationships- my friendship with Lily and my obsession with Quidditch. Ever since my first time playing on the Potter family's miniature pitch, I've been the biggest Quidditch nerd around, memorizing the plays and players from famous games. I could tell you exactly who won the yearly MVP of the British and Irish Quidditch League for the last twenty years, though chances are the answer would be "Oliver Wood," who had won that particular accolade twelve times in a row before retiring.

By the time I make it down to the Quidditch pitch, I realize that Lily was right about being late; there was already quite a crowd inside the pitch, gathered conveniently around the entrance to prevent my short, sorry self from seeing what all the commotion was. I try in vain to spot Lily's signature fire-red hair; she had run down to the pitch, while I completed the trip down from the dorms in a shaky walk. I had watched tryouts only once before from the sidelines, during my second year. Funnily enough, the positions had been reversed; I had been the one consoling a nervous Lily. Ever since we had met, she had wanted to play Quidditch just like her entire immediate family before her. As it turned out, she hardly had any reason to worry; over the course of that tryout, Lily managed to score not once, not twice, but _ten freaking times_ on seventh-year keeper Jeremy Thomas, who was also the team's captain. None of the other Chasers had managed to score more than twice; most didn't score at all. Lily was the all the rage in Gryffindor for the following two weeks; people were calling her the next Ginny Weasley, which was not an unfair comparison; aside from her striking physical resemblance to her mother, Lily had the family talent and the training that normally comes from having a professional Quidditch player as a parent. I was definitely more than a bit envious, as I had always dreamed of playing the exact same position on the exact same team. To make matters worse, my family wasn't keen on the sport at all; Mom runs the Leaky Cauldron and Dad, well, teaches here, so I never had the background that several members of the team did. I mean, for crying out loud, Claire and Alex's parents are freaking _Oliver Wood_ and _Katie Bell_. And while Mom and Dad at least encouraged me to pursue my interest through friendly games with Lily and Claire, Frank, the stupid prat that he is, detests Quidditch. I still don't get how my very own sibling could have turned out so different. Anyways, now that my worrywart Hufflepuff of an older brother has graduated, this is the perfect year for me to try and make the team, or so Lily says.

Lily's voice breaks my reverie. The crowd of bodies still stops me from catching any glimpse of her, but I can hear her bright, high voice cutting through the hubbub. I can't quite make out what she's saying, but suddenly, everyone goes quiet.

"Listen up," a familiar male voice booms across the crowd. "I want you all to spread out so that I can get a head count."

The crowd starts to move, forming a crude half-circle of Quidditch hopefuls around the oval entrance to the pitch. Everyone's attention is focused on the two blokes standing in the focal point of the curve, and the one on the left t steps forward. I identify the speaker; he's tall, around six-two with an extremely muscular frame and wild auburn hair framing a handsomely boyish face with playful brown eyes- but I know him as my best friend's brother. I knew that quite a few of the girls who were previously crowding the door but were now occupying the stands had no intention of trying out, but were simply here to ogle James Potter in his uniformed glory; he was, as Claire so delicately put it last year, "smoking hot". That comment had caused Lily to groan and plant her face into the desk.

The other boy, though shorter and slimmer than James, strikes an imposing figure as well; he's roughly six feet tall with dark brown hair and darker eyes that stand out against his fair skin. He's wearing the crimson and gold cloak like James, but his pose is a far more casual one, leaning against his broom with a smirk on his face very similar to Claire's.

"Alright, let's get started," James continues. "First, we'll do introductions. I'm James Potter, and I'm the captain of Gryffindor this year. To my left- your right- is Alex Wood, your assistant captain. We have two other returning players, Claire Wood," met by Claire's hand shooting over her blonde head, "and Lily Potter."

I could see Lily on the other end of the semicircle raising her hand with a winning smile.

"Before we actually get into what you lot will be doing to impress the two of us, there's some changes that we need to go over. As you all know, Headmistress McGonagall retired last year, and she's taking the old Quidditch system with her. Headmaster Simons has decided to, erm, modernize Hogwarts's Quidditch program to better prepare our players for possible futures on professional teams. Most of you know what's new, which is why this damn pitch is so crowded right now."

A wave of laughter sweeps the crowd, and I can't help but follow suit. Alex steps forward, and the crowd mostly quiets down.

"This year's Quidditch House Cup will be a weekly event, as opposed to the monthly showmatch that used to pass for a tournament around here," he states with a toothy grin. Yep, there's that Wood-Bell competitive streak. "We'll not only be looking to fill the three openings on our starting lineup- two Chasers and one beater, by the way- but also to fill out a reserve team of fourteen players. Now if this were last year, being a reserve would hardly be better than off the team entirely- but that's not the case this time. We'll be swapping in players quite a bit more, and even if you're on the starting roster it's entirely possible that we decide a reserve player plays better with the team after some trial and error, and you might find yourself on the bench more often than not. Oh, and practices will be on Monday, Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday, with matches every Friday. So if you have plans to spend your Fridays snogging your girlfriend, boyfriend, or someone else's girlfriend of boyfriend, best get off the pitch right now." Alex turns to James, who effortlessly segues into the lecture.

"Right then, this tryout will consist of two parts- the technical trials and the practical simulation. We'll start by separating the players by position. Chasers will try to score on Alex, Beaters will field Claire's bludgers, Keepers will have to block out Lily, and I'll observe the Seekers chasing a variety of Snitches. Then we'll get to the fun part. There are fifty players here other than the four I just mentioned, so we're going to need at least five or six games. Now, some of you might be called to play more than one game, and some of you will only take to the pitch once. If you get called for an encore, it's so we can get more info on players who haven't really made much of an impression either way. And keep in mind that while it's an individual tryout, in the end what we want are _team_ players. Don't try to hog all the glory or we'll notice," James finishes with a wave of his broom. "Now follow your assigned group and we'll get started."

Fortunately for my vertically-challenged self, Alex's height and dark hair makes him easy to pick out in the crowd. I struggle against a wave of people heading up to the stands, but eventually I join the newly-formed crowd standing around Alex.

"Get on your brooms and let's start. As you can see, we're standing a good distance away from the hoops. You lot will be lining up in the air right here and flying down to take a shot on me. The most important thing will be how many goals you score, but I might also put in a good word for you if you impress me with, say, your flying technique."

Well, that doesn't bode well for me, does it?

Alex takes off, positioning himself a dozen yards away in the center of the three hoops. I follow the other players, rising in a spiral to hover at hoop level. As we get into a neat line (or as neat as you could reasonably expect nervous, eager Gryffindors on brooms to be), I take a quick glance at the other end of the pitch, where Lily's already started chucking Quaffles at the poor saps who are hoping to get one of the two reserve Keeper spots. I only count six hopefuls, which makes sense as there's no starting spot open for grabs. Unfortunately, the Chaser situation is the complete opposite; there had to be at least thirty players here vying for the two main team openings and six reserve positions.

Alex shouts something that I can't quite decipher, and the first person in line, a hulking seventh-year girl shouts out "Saoirse Stevenson", which I realize is her name, and accelerates with the Quaffle in hand. I observe as she makes her approach, and while there's power in her flight and posture, there's no subtlety in the way she moves. Before she even takes the shot, I read that she's aiming for Alex's right- our left. And to nobody's surprise, Alex swings to his right, arm outstretched, and catches the Quaffle without breaking a sweat.

Another ten or so players try in vain to get past what Lily jokingly calls "the Wood eye". All eyes are on me as the last player to take a shot grudgingly hands me the Quaffle. I gulp, close my eyes briefly, and fly forward.

The wind rushes into my face, blowing strands of my brown hair across my forehead. I wobble a bit before finding a leftward angle toward the hoops, as Alex crouches in front of the center one. I know that I'm going to have to feint; Alex is far too good to fall for brute force. I deepen the turn, making for the hoop on my left with both eyes on the target. Out of the corner of my right eye, I notice Alex start to turn right in anticipation, and that's when I strike. I whip the Quaffle to my far right with every ounce of strength in my shivering body, and Alex turns to block, but his fingertips just barely miss the edge as the ball soars toward the hoop, and I can't look, so I close my eyes again. I'm a coward, so sue me. I hear the telltale thud of the Quaffle making contact with a hoop, not passing through, and my heart sinks. Nobody makes a sound.

As I slowly open my eyes, something incredible happens. Noise reaches from the crowd, growing from silence to a noticeable cheer. I look down, and a good five yards below me I spot Alex just floating in place, Quaffle in hand. He rises up, handing me the object with a wry grin spread on his face. "Grazed the rim, but that's a fair shot. One point for Alice Longbottom!" he shouts. Elation rises in me, a giddy rush of emotion as I fly back to the line, where I hand the ball to the next person in line, a seventh-year boy with a dumbstruck look on his square-jawed face. I'm pretty sure that even Lily couldn't grin as brightly as I was now, and all I wanted to do was scream "Hah, beat that!"

Unfortunately, the boy seemed to have heard my message, and he makes the shot, a clean and fast one through the left hoop. It turns out that my mental taunt target of choice happened to be Gilbert O'Connell, last year's reserve center.

I wish I could say that the rest of the technical trial comes down to me and O'Connell slugging it out among a sea of washouts, but sadly, that's hardly the case. Despite Alex's incredible saves, at least five or six players manage to score multiple times over the course of the hour-long trial, and I'm barely among them with just three goals to my name. O'Connell, the bloody git, tops the table at _six_, including a mirrored replica of my first shot. Actually, it wasn't quite a replica; his version sailed through cleanly.

By the time the hour's up, I'm pretty conflicted; I figure that on one hand, there can't be more than ten players here that scored three goals or more, so I should be in good shape to at least make the reserves. But on the other hand, I'm definitely not even remotely close to Lily or even Gilbert freaking O'Connell.

It's mid-morning by the time we finally touch down and circle around Alex, who tells us to stay grouped and wait for James. Two minutes later, aforementioned Captain arrives with his box of practice Snitches in hand. I notice that the box bears the triple W's, short for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, the joke shop run by Lily's uncle George. I remind myself to ask Lily later about why the store known for Puking Pastilles is manufacturing Snitches.

Alex walks up to James, and Claire and Lily make their way out of the crowd to join the two in a whispered conversation. They nod, and Claire moves toward the entrance end of the pitch while Lily turns the opposite way.

"Alright," James yells, "we're going to start the practice games. Stevenson, Donahue, Kim, Terrell, Andrews, Parker, and Bennet, go to the entrance end."

Alex rattles off another seven names, none of which are mine, before adding, "The rest of you, go sit your sorry butts in the stands until we call you."

I watch Lily and Claire as they give what appears to be a brief explanation of the rules of the game before walking toward us. Lily's the first up the stairs, and I wave to her. Claire follows and they sit on either side of me, sporting matching mischievous grins. Yep, here comes the Inquisition. Claire's tall, around five-nine, and Lily's not much shorter at five-seven; even seated, my tiny five-three frame is noticeably dwarfed as they put their arms around my shoulders.

"So Alice, how was taking potshots at my cocky arse of a brother?" Claire opens with a cheeky grin. I scoff. "Fun, wasn't it?"

"Well, at least I made a few of them, and I didn't maim Alex, so it can't be all bad, right? And shouldn't you be watching the game and taking notes or whatnot?" I huff, gesturing to the aerial antics in front of us.

"Nah, Lil's got it, doesn't she? Now if only she didn't spend half the time ogling my brother's arse," Claire sniggers.

"In my defense, Alex does have a nice one," a smiling Lily replies, waggling her eyebrows before returning her eyes to the players above.

"Tsk tsk, and I used to think you had good taste," responds Claire. I just groan.

"Can we not talk about _arses_ right now?"

Nobody responds, though, as a roar sweeps the stands. I look toward the field, searching for the cause of all the commotion and I spot it right away: the tall, slim Stephen Kim holding the Golden Snitch in his hand, a faint blush visible on his pale cheeks. He was a quiet boy in our year who Claire had befriended last year in Defense class; I had been somewhat surprised to find out from her that Stephen, like myself, was a fanatical Quidditch lover who had never quite mustered up the confidence to try out for the team.

"I finally convinced him to try out," Claire declares proudly. "He's a bloody fantastic Seeker, just a bit shy when it comes to big crowds," she explains with a grin.

James quickly took to the field again, and I could hear him begin to yell another seven names, the last of which was "Longbottom." I gulp, and Lily gives me a hearty pat on the back.

"Come on, you're with me. And don't fret your pretty head off, you'll do fine," Lily says. "Just think of it as another one of our practice games. James has already seen you play plenty of times, and he agrees with me. You're a talented player, so just be yourself."

Oh great, our illustrious Captain already has _expectations_ of me. Way to make a girl feel better, Lily.

I shuffle down to the field with Lily in front of me. Soon, a full team of seven has gathered, and I vaguely recognize them all, but I only know two by name: Grzegorz Dracik, a fifth-year transfer student from Durmstrang who was sorted into Gryffindor just two days ago, and the aforementioned meathead of a girl, Saoirse Stevenson. Apparently she was interesting enough to merit a second go. The rest of our makeshift team consists of second, third, and fourth-year students, none of whom I've ever spoken to. Lily sorts us by position, and we're waiting for the signal from James to start. But it quickly becomes apparent that something is awry when Claire comes dashing from the other side of the field to convene with Alex and James, and Lily runs to join them. My conscience is screaming _no_, but my curiosity gets the better of me, and I draw my wand to cast a wordless _Sonorus_ charm, just enough for me to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"I blame Lily for scaring off the rest of the blokes. And come on, it'll be fun," I hear Alex declare.

"No, no way. He's on another House team, for crying out loud. It's already bad enough that he's here watching his girlfriend try out, but _playing_? We're going to look like we're letting our personal lives get mixed up with Quidditch, and that's _never_ good." That's clearly an indignant James.

"James, you've never let accusations of nepotism bother you before, so why now? Neither has Alex. Remember when people were giving you two hell for me and Claire making it as second years? You hardly batted an eye," Lily chips in.

"And besides, we're trying to test how well they're going to fare against the other House teams. Alex just went up against every Chaser here anyways; what better way than to pit them against the best Keeper in the league?," Claire adds, not bothering to veil her taunt at her brother.

"Oi!" an indignant Alex yelled.

"Fine, the best Keeper we're going to be up against. Happy?"

A satisfied snort leaves Alex. I can make out James throwing his hands in the air, clearly a sign of defeat, and not long afterward, Lily makes for the stands. I see her walk up, and- oh, _hell no._ No, no, no. This can't be real.

Walking down toward the pitch is none other than Slytherin's starting Keeper, a raven-haired Quidditch genius straight out of my nightmares. He's fairly tall, a bit shorter than Alex, with an attractively toned frame and the most stunning green eyes I've ever seen on a pale, classically sculpted face. The only other person I knew who had those eyes was famous for vanquishing the greatest evil to touch the Wizarding world. The instrument of my demise, now strolling across the pitch in his infuriatingly cocky way, was my best friend's other brother, Albus Severus Potter.

"Bollocks, _that's_ who we're playing against?" Stevenson grunts in disbelief.

"If you did not vant to play against the best, vy are you here?" Grzegorz evenly states in his thick Polish accent. Hmm, I like him already.

I sneak a glance at our younger teammates. All four of them just stare at Al with widened eyes; clearly the git's reputation precedes him. Then again, anyone who watched Gryffindor's pitiful final game against Slytherin last year should know; Al had completed a near-perfect shutout against our Chasers, with only Lily managing two goals against her brother. Alex defended valiantly as well, but any hopes we had were dashed by Seeker Scorpius Malfoy (Al's best friend and Rose's boyfriend, incidentally), who caught the Snitch right out from under a frustrated James's nose. The final score stood at two hundred-and-thirty for them, a pitiful _twenty_ for us. Granted, Jameson had been an awful Captain, and the other two Chasers were hardly better than I am, but Alex and James had taken the loss rather hard.

The sharp sound of James's voice yelling "Players, take your positions!" cuts short my trip through Memory Lane. I scramble into the leftward Chaser spot, next to Stevenson's obnoxious self.

James blows his whistle and everything leaves my brain. I take off, and immediately I catch that Stevenson has the Quaffle. The right-hand Chaser, a very small boy who's probably a second-year, lags behind as Stevenson passes to me. I catch the Quaffle, narrowly dodging a Bludger sent by the opposing team, and make my way to the goalpost. The other team's Chasers seem to have no bloody idea what they're doing, as I'm literally three yards away from the closest one. I have a decent angle for a shot, but Al's eyes are locked on mine, his green irises piercing into me. I hate myself for it, but I chicken out at the last moment, passing back to Stevenson, who chucks the Quaffle toward the goal to our right- but, of course, Al catches it effortlessly and flashes us his trademark smirk to boot. I hear a cry of "Go Al!" coming from the stands, and lo and behold, it's his girlfriend, Cassidy Finnigan, who I remember seeing in the Chaser trials. She's bloody awful at the game.

The game goes on for the maximum length that Lily had stated, a full hour; neither Seeker has managed to catch the Snitch, and with Al playing Keeper for the other team, it's no surprise that we end up getting massacred, sixty-nil. I'm ashamed to say that I didn't even attempt a shot, not out of fear of missing and looking like an idiot- that certainly didn't stop Saoirse Stevenson- but out of my pitiful mental block every time I try to score on Al. For some reason, the stupid prat's eyes are both magnetic and terrifying, and I just can't shoot when he stares at me, so I pass to our block-headed center instead. Go me.

We touch down, and James immediately launches into the third game, where Al once again takes the field on Claire's side. This time, Gilbert O'Connell takes the field, and Stephen and Grzegorz are called up for a repeat performance. My name isn't called, and my heart sinks. I'm not an idiot; it's clear for everyone to see that this game was the one that mattered, the one with the candidates worth considering.

Lily and Claire join me once more, but this time, they hardly say a word, both pairs of eyes glued to the sky above. I attempt to watch, but I'm still reeling at how much of a _bloody coward_ I am, so nothing really registers until half an hour in I hear an elated cheer from Claire, who stands and claps. I look back at the field and there's Stephen, snitch in hand again, with a slow smile spreading across his face. I join in the clapping, but a part of me is drowning in envy. After all, Stephen was a fifth-year like me, but he's basically a shoo-in as the first reserve Seeker, while I'm probably not even going to get a mention from Alex, let alone a spot on the reserves. And the main team was about as likely as Voldemort being resurrected and voted in as Minister.

By the time James, Alex, Lily, and Claire come to their decisions, it's already well past one, and we're all sweaty from being out in the sun so long, so a part of me is glad when James calls us down to the field.

"Alright, we're going to announce this year's team. First of all, thanks to all of you for showing up and giving it your best. Even if you feel like you flew worse than my uncle Ron on ten shots of Firewhiskey, just know that we appreciate it." Everyone laughs, and though my heart is pounding, I can't help but follow suit.

"We'll begin with the starting roster. In the Seeker position will be James Potter- that's me, by the way. Alex Wood is returning as our Keeper, and our two Beaters will be Claire Wood and our new recruit, Grzegorz Dracik."

Did I mention that I'm an envious person? Yeah, I'll remind you again. I envy the hell out of Grzegorz.

"And lastly, your Chasers this year will be Lily Potter-"

_Thud, thud thud_ goes my heart.

"Gilbert O'Connell-"

_Thuddity thuddity THUD._

"And Alvin Bennet."

Disappointment floods me, but I mentally slap myself. Making the main team on my first go? I'm not Lily.

He then goes through the reserve Seekers- Stephen's one of them, to nobody's surprise- and the reserve Keepers and Beaters before finally arriving on the Chasers. My heart starts up again, and everything feels just a tiny bit slower and louder.

"Derek Donahue, Jessica Herrera, Wilma Pan, Benjamin Terrell, Eileen Jordan and-" James pauses.

The blood is pounding against my head so hard at this point that I feel like passing out. James, the bugger, holds the pause, and then slowly turns his head to scan the crowd. I can't breathe when his eyes meet mine, and I want to look away, but I don't. But then the craziest thing happens- neither does he. Instead, he grins.

"Alice Longbottom."


	2. Trio Troubles

**Chapter Two: Trio Troubles**

**A/N: Hello again, my dear readers! I'm updating earlier than I had planned to, as I've managed to find an entire day's worth of spare time in my busy, busy college life. Also, reviews are GREATLY appreciated. No, seriously, they're like crack for us aspiring writers. So yeah, hook me up with some of that sweet, sweet literary critique.**

**In this chapter we're going to meet an important character and get a glimpse of school life for Alice and her gang.**

**Disclaimer: I woke up in the morning and found, to my profound displeasure, that I wasn't Jo Rowling. So I guess I don't own Harry Potter. **_**Sigh.**_

"Alice Longbottom."

Yes. _Hell_ yes. All the pent-up anxiety in my body turns to elated energy, and if it weren't for the crowd of people around me, I'd be jumping and screaming. I look around frantically, and there's Lily and Claire, heading through the crowd. I leap into them, and there's no need for words; we just laugh and yell and hug each other tightly. Out of the corner of my vision I spot Saoirse Stevenson and a few of her brutish friends trudging off the pitch, and the Neanderthal-girl shoots me the evil eye on the way out.

The frenetic hubbub of congratulations and condolences being thrown around comes to a screeching halt as James's shout of "Attention!" rings through the pitch, clearly amplified by the Sonorus charm.

"For those of you who received a spot on either the starting or reserve rosters, I have an announcement to make, so please pay attention. As Alex explained earlier today, the House Cup is a weekly tournament. Now for those of you who aren't terribly familiar with basic arithmetic, there are four teams, two of which play every week. That means that on average we'll be playing once every other week, and it just so happens that we're playing this upcoming Friday in the opening match, against Ravenclaw."

Confident murmurs ripple through the crowd. Ravenclaw had been one of the worst teams in the league ever since my first year. They had finished in third last year, only ahead of- you guessed it- Gryffindor. And now that the airheaded Natalie Jameson is gone, we shouldn't have any problems against the blue-and-bronze. James continued after the whispers had died down.

"This means that we're going to begin practices this week, starting with the first one tomorrow at two." Loud groans erupt, and I'm tempted to join in, being bloody exhausted and all. "Practices are mandatory for all players on the starting lineup. Now if you're on the reserves, it's your choice; if you decide to skive off for the rest of the year, be my guest. Just know that your likelihood of actually seeing play will be lower than the chances of Jansen Noyes saving a shot."

The crowd erupted into guffawing over James's dig at the Ravenclaw Keeper, and I might have been the one laughing loudest. Boy, it felt good to be on the team, even if I was just a reserve.

* * *

Claire, Lily, and I make it back to the Gryffindor tower all sweaty and smiling. The packed common room bursts into noise as we enter, and quite a few eyes are staring at me. We're clearly among the last to make it back from the pitch, as I spot a few of my new teammates among the crowd. Alvin Bennet, the lanky sixth-year who made the starting team, gives me a wide grin as I pass, and I just politely nod. I leave my two close friends to chat it up while I go for a much-needed shower in the recently renovated seventh floor bathroom, just a short walk away. It's a pity that the locker rooms weren't open for today; I was never a big fan of the castle's bathrooms, renovated or not.

As I approach an empty shower stall, the curtains to the adjacent ones open. There, standing completely starkers, is the fittest girl I've ever seen. She's closer to my height than Lily's, a five-foot-four redhead with sharp blue eyes and freaking _washboard abs_ to compliment the rest of her toned, lean frame.

"S-sorry, Rose, I didn't see you there," I manage to squeak.

Personally, I didn't know Rose Weasley all that well; though they were cousins, she and Lily weren't particularly close, and since she was a sixth-year, we didn't have many classes together and were rarely paired for Prefect rounds. Despite being in Gryffindor, she didn't have many close friends in our house; instead, her cousin Al and her boyfriend Scorpius are both Slytherins. However, her reputation in the castle is nothing short of legendary. Where do I begin? Ok, first of all, she's bloody brilliant- top of her class (and Dad's favorite student), President of the Dueling Club, and most importantly of all, the author of _Pyrrhic Victory: The Aftermath and Implications of the Second Wizarding War_, a volume praised the world over by leading Wizarding academics. In fact, it's one of the textbooks we're required to read for History of Magic. Harding, the History professor, had raved on and on for the majority of our first class this year about how the best nonfiction publication in recent memory had started as an essay that Rose had written last year for his very class. He had gone as far as calling Rose "a shining example of the power of dedication to learning." Yeah, I was wishing Simons hadn't stripped Binns of the post; boring though the old ghost might have been, he at least wasn't aggressively pompous.

Anyways, where was I? Oh, right, the part where Rose Weasley is the _most terrifying girl in the entire universe_. For starters, she's unfazed by pretty much everything; Lily had stumbled upon her shagging Scorpius last month, and Rose had simply told her to close the door. She's also an insane fitness fanatic; while I was at Lily's house over the summer, Rose and Scorpius had frequently dropped by to pick up Al for some crazy, Muggle-inspired workout that always resulted in an exhausted Albus returning to the Potter household at sunset. Not that I complained; cocky prat though he may be, a shirtless, disheveled Al Potter was a sight for sore eyes. But the main reason almost every person in the castle is scared shitless of a small girl is one that requires another of my lengthy anecdotes.

It had happened in the middle of last year, shortly after Christmas break; the scandalous news that Rose Weasley was dating Scorpius Malfoy spread faster than the flu. Ingrid Rhys, a seventh-year who was notorious for her hatred of Slytherin, had confronted Rose in front of the entire Gryffindor common room.

"I always knew that you weren't a real Gryffindor, but Malfoy? Little Weasley, spreading her legs for the big, bad Death Eater?"

"Leave your big bloody nose out of this. It isn't any of your goddamn business who Rose dates," Lily had hotly snapped in defense of her cousin.

Rose had simply stood up from her seat, and though she was nearly a foot shorter than the monstrously large girl, there had been zero traces of fear in both her body posture and facial expression.

"First of all, Scorpius isn't his father, or his grandfather before him. Scorpius Malfoy is an outstanding member of this school and the furthest thing from a Death Eater you'll ever see." Rose's voice had been perfectly calm, but I could see that fury blazed in her bright eyes. "And yes, I _am_ shagging him. So what?" You could have seen the jaws dropping throughout the room.

"You're a disgrace to your famous family and to our house," the larger girl had jeered. "You're nothing but a Slytherin-loving _whore._"

"My family didn't fight a war against the House of Slytherin or against purebloods; they fought for equality, freedom, and tolerance, things that close-minded individuals like yourself will never understand, no matter which side of history you happen to stand on. And if you're looking for a fight, the Dueling Club meets in two hours. Bring your wand," Rose had stated before exiting the room.

Needless to say, Rhys had showed up with her groupies in tow, Stevenson included. The Room of Requirement was packed with students eager to watch the grudge match unfold. According to Lily, Scorpius had spent the two hours leading up to the fight trying to talk Rose out of it, but she showed up nevertheless. The duel only lasted a few minutes; Ingrid Rhys's strategy of throwing rapid-fire curses was amateurish at best, and Rose, who was already quite well-known for her athleticism and dueling technique, had deflected and dodged everything with ease and taken the brute down in short order with a series of quick spells capped off with a spectacularly powerful Stupefy.

Now you might be wondering why the demonstration had cemented Rose's reputation when she had regularly beaten other, more talented duelists at the Club- well, it didn't. What mattered happened after Rose had walked over to offer the customary handshake to Rhys. The larger girl was apparently not a gracious loser, and she had used the opportunity to tackle Rose and toss her wand away before landing a series of brutal punches to the fallen girl's face. Wands were frantically drawn by the onlookers, but in the most surprising turn of events yet, Albus Potter had stood between the two girls and the audience, arms outstretched, silently telling the crowd to stay out of it.

"Are you bloody insane, Potter?" shouted one of the other students. "Rhys is closer to a gorilla than a human. She'll beat your cousin into a bloody pulp!" What personally baffled me was that the entire time, I had been sneaking glances at Scorpius Malfoy, who had silently watched the events unfold with an expression that resembled amusement more than distress; after all, his girlfriend had just been physically assaulted by a girl twice her weight.

And now we get to the crazy part. Rose had managed to untangle herself from the big, bulky girl, and proceeded to absolutely _wallop_ her. The studious teacher's pet who couldn't have weighed more than a hundred and ten pounds landed kicks so strong that they made an audible _smack _even above the shouts of the audience. After Ingrid Rhys had been rendered unable to stand from a particularly vicious right hook to the side of her jaw, a bruised and bloodied Rose had simply walked away, declaring the club meeting over. The older girl was suspended for instigating physical violence, and Rose had ended up with a month's worth of detention for fighting back instead of calling for help, but she had made her point to the student body of Hogwarts: nobody messes with Rose Weasley.

"No big deal; we're both girls here," Rose states, bringing me back to the present. Oh god, she's now fully dressed. That means that I've been spaced out the entire time…just staring at her while she's been putting on clothing. God, this is embarrassing. "Then again, I suppose even if you were a bloke it still wouldn't be worth getting worked up about. Oh, and I heard from Al that you made the Quidditch team. Congrats, Alice," she offers with a casual smile before strolling out of the bathroom, not looking back.

* * *

I take my shower quickly and return to the common room, where Lily and Claire are sitting at one of the tables, poring over their Muggle Studies homework.

"Bloody hell, I miss Professor Galloway already. Chekov is a total arse; I mean, who assigns two entire bloody chapters on the first weekend of school? We've only had two classes!" Claire exclaims before she sees me walk in.

I sit beside my two close friends, looking at the thick text that the new Muggle Studies professor had assigned the day before, and I can't suppress a groan. "Yep, you're right. Chekov is an old, hairy arse. Why did they replace Galloway?"

"Aunt Hermione says it's because Simons has a lot of old pureblood money backing him up, but she's not exactly the most impartial person in the world," Lily said. Claire and I just nod; Hermione Granger-Weasley was the foremost proponent of magical equality in the Wizarding World. "Alice, what did Neville- er, your dad- say? He must know something about the whole situation, seeing as how he's one of the older staff members still here."

I knew that Galloway was incredibly young, barely older than some of Lily's cousins. But the controversial thing about her was definitely not her youth; hell, Lily's godbrother Teddy is roughly the same age, and he's starting as the DADA professor this year. No, the reason our beloved Muggle Studies professor got kicked was most likely because she was a Squib. The press had gone wild when it had come out that Jennifer Galloway, the younger sister of Puddlemere Chaser Albert Galloway, was not only a Muggle in most respects but also the newest professor at Hogwarts. My dad had been one of her staunch supporters from the start and had stated at dinner one night over the summer that "political factors" had resulted in her removal.

"He was pretty vague about it, but I don't blame him, seeing as how I'm still a student. I'm guessing that your aunt knows just as much as Dad, seeing as how she works for the Ministry. And I agree- it's freaking stupid. It's not like she was teaching Charms or something. If anything, the fact that she couldn't use magic actually helped us understand Muggles, and that's the entire point of the class in the first place," I huff, not bothering to suppress the ranting spirit that had been brewing in my head ever since the unpleasant change of seeing Professor Ansen Chekov's dour face on the first day instead of Galloway's cheerful one.

After only five minutes of attempting to decipher the incredibly dull and wordy text, Claire gives up with an audible groan. "Bugger it all, this isn't sinking in." She taps Lily on the shoulder and grins. "We never did finish questioning a certain someone about the tryouts."

Lily slowly looks up and gets the same diabolical smile. Oh, crap.

"So yeah, how's it feel to be on the team, o star chaser and Quidditch brainiac?" Lily teasingly pries as Claire gives me a massive grin.

I can't help but let out a happy giggle as I'm reminded- I'm on the team. I'm on the freaking Gryffindor Quidditch team! Go me. Or rather, go Lily and Claire for all those summer drills they made me run.

"Okay, I'll admit, I'm relieved. And excited…and really freaking happy," I declare with a smile even bigger than Claire's.

"Of course, there _is_ a downside. My brother is definitely not Natalie Jameson, and his exercise routine is going to be downright _evil._ He told me he got it from _Rose_," Lily dramatically states with her trademark raised eyebrows.

"Oh Godric, don't remind me. We had it so easy last year; if only we had actually won more than a handful of matches, it would have been perfect," she moans.

I'm pretty sure my face is beet red at this point; I remember my run-in with Lily's aforementioned fearless-and-fearsome cousin. "I- ok, this is going to sound really weird. I ran into Rose in the bathroom," I stammer quickly.

Lily only gives me a blank stare, while Claire's face exudes confusion.

"Naked," I hastily add. Yep, now they get it. They _definitely _get it.

"Wow Alice, I didn't know you went that way," Claire quips with an eyebrow waggle of her own.

"Damnit, you know what I mean. I stumbled into her on the way to the showers, and she just stands there and greets me like- well, like she's not wearing bloody nothing. She's ripped, like almost bodybuilder level stuff. I mean, even most professional Quidditch players don't have abs like hers."

"Hey, at least you didn't walk in on her _shagging._ Oh god, my poor eyes," Lily theatrically laments.

"Speaking of Rose, why doesn't she try out for the team?" Claire asks, looking at Lily. "I mean, she's probably in better shape than either Alex or James, and she'd certainly beat their asses in a run or a fistfight, which isn't saying all that much." Lily and I laugh. "Is it a loyalty thing, not wanting to compete against her fellow Trio members?"

Ever since I've been at Hogwarts, Rose, Al, and Scorpius have been collectively known as the Trio. No, not the Golden Trio, though that was Rose's parents and Al's dad. They were referred to as the Trio simply because they were pretty much inseparable and rarely socialized with anyone else, even their siblings; Lily had lamented to me a few years ago that Al had grown somewhat distant from her and James ever since going off to Hogwarts. And while I'm not terribly close to Rose's brother Hugo, a Ravenclaw in our year, Lily definitely is, and apparently he feels the same about Rose.

"It's definitely not that," Lily replies. "She's had a friendly rivalry with Scorpius since starting school, what with them both being Prefects and topping the gradebook on every test. I asked her about joining the team a while ago, and she just told me that she didn't care for Quidditch. She said something about not liking points or rules or something. Our Head-Girl-to-be doesn't like rules; ironic, right?"

The three of us snigger in unison.

We manage to finish up the reading just in time for dinner, and before long, I find myself in my comfy bed, quickly falling asleep from the day's exhausting events.

* * *

By the time morning rolls around, I realize that if I'm going to survive this year, I'm going to have to get in better shape; I'm sore all over from yesterday's tryouts. Oh, and it's ten, which means that practice is in just four hours. Now I could ditch, but as James said yesterday, that would probably kill my chances of participating in a match. And I was on the team to do exactly that.

I look around the dorm and spot Claire still asleep while Lily's sitting on her bed with what appears to be a cheesy Muggle romance novel in hand. Most of the dorm is still sleeping, which isn't surprising; only Quidditch nuts like us would be up before noon on such a fine Sunday morning for dozing off. I take a moment to thank my lucky stars that I hadn't been scheduled for last night's Prefect patrol, as that would have made getting up an even bigger pain.

"Morning," I hear Claire half-yawn. Lily and I both notice at about the same time, and we sit up, patiently waiting for Claire to get her bearings. A minute or so passes before we all get up and head to the bathroom.

We take three adjacent sinks, with Lily in the middle. The full-length mirror in front of us, a recent addition to the bathroom, lets me spend the time staring at my gorgeous friends while we clean up and untangle our bedheads in silence.

Claire, the tallest of the three of us, has the worst bed hair; her thick, golden-blonde locks fall in unruly waves down to her shoulder. Claire looks every bit Oliver Wood's daughter, with the same pronounced eyebrows, handsomely angular facial features, and dashing olive-brown eyes, all with a splash of Scottish charm on top. Claire's also by far the curviest of the three of us, and while she definitely doesn't dress like a slag, she knows how to make her looks work to her advantage.

It made sense that Lily stood in the middle of us, and not just because of our coincidental height order. Lily was definitely the lynchpin of our group; in fact, she was the one who had introduced me and Claire in the first place. Lily's most outwardly striking feature is without a doubt the straight, lustrous crimson hair, which splays nicely to the top of her shoulder even after a restful night's sleep. My best friend is a drop dead stunner, with the most vivid brown eyes and a lightly tanned heart-shaped face a bit rounder than Claire's. Lily's slimmer and less muscular than Claire, with a lean, fit frame and curves in just the right places. Her looks, combined with her outgoing nature and kindness, made her one of the most desired girls at Hogwarts; I can't count on all my fingers and toes how many blokes fancy her at the moment.

And then there's me. I'm shorter than roughly five out of every six girls in my grade and certainly much, much shorter than my best friends. My chestnut brown hair gives Claire's a run for the dubious distinction of "worst bedhead in Gryffindor", as the natural waviness and medium-short length makes it fly all over the place after some tossing and turning. I'm what most guys (and girls) would call "cute"; I like to describe my hundred-pound figure as a Quidditch broom- unruly straw at the end of a wooden stick. Hell, my chest and butt wouldn't be too out of place on a twelve-year-old boy. Even my face, a cream-colored oval with high cheekbones and bright hazel eyes, is vaguely childish; when I'm not wearing my Prefect badge, I get mistaken for a fourth-year quite often (sometimes even a third-year).

I notice that Lily's wearing her eye-grabbing hair in the usual ponytail, while Claire has managed to brush her hair out into a smooth, golden cascade, unlike the messy ponytail that the three of us normally had in common.

"Soooo…." I start, giving Claire a wry smirk, "What's the occasion?"

Claire blushed; she had never been particularly good at concealing her thoughts. They were literally written on her face at times.

"Nothing much, I'm just off to study with some friends after we eat," she states with a shrug. Lily just shoots me a comical, knowing look.

* * *

We walk down to the Great Hall, eager to get some food into our stomachs to prepare for the afternoon's likely-grueling practice. I spot a welcome face- slightly worn, capped with sandy brown hair so light some took him for a blond, with warm hazel eyes much like my own.

Instantly I dash over, grabbing him in a warm hug. He chuckles, ruffling my hair. "I made the team," I tell him with a grin.

"I heard; your old man _is_ the head of House, after all. Congratulations, sweetie," he declares, making me blush as I realize that both my friends are watching with barely-concealed grins.

"Hi Professor," Claire chimes in, followed by a similarly polite greeting from Lily. It was an unfortunate side effect of working at Hogwarts: both Lily and Claire called my dad "Uncle Nev" while at my place over the summers but had to refer to him formally here to avoid accusations of favoritism. Even I had to refrain from publicly calling him "Dad" while Herbology was in session for the same reason.

My dad leaves the Hall with his food, and the three of us find a seat at the Gryffindor table. My mom's an excellent cook (she has to be, given that she runs the Cauldron), but there's always something exciting about meals at Hogwarts that just can't be replicated anywhere else. There's pork pies, mash, and plenty of autumn root vegetables, all served with cold pumpkin juice. We dig in, famished from our early dinner the previous night and lack of breakfast. Lily definitely inherited both the Weasley appetite and table manners; it never got old seeing my ladylike best friend absolutely tear into plates of food. Claire and I aren't exactly society's finest gentlewomen, but Lily makes us look like bloody princesses the way she stuffs her face.

We demolish a half-table's worth of food before heading back up to the common room. As soon as we enter, though, Claire excitedly states, "I- er, I have to go study now. See you girls at practice," before strolling over to the corner of the room, and immediately I see why she's been so giddy all day: there's Stephen Kim, cutting quite a handsome figure with his shy smile and his tan, lanky frame an inch or two taller than Claire's. He sees us and I can make out a slight blush as Claire starts talking animatedly, and Lily and I can't help but snigger.

"Have fun _studying_," I call, and I drag Lily out of the room before either of us can burst out laughing.

* * *

Lily and I manage to complete a good portion of my dad's Herbology paper, which isn't due for another week; I've managed to convince Lily that with the heavy practice schedule this year, we ought to do as much work as we can instead of putting it off. The paper isn't difficult; ever since I was little, Dad's been teaching me bits and pieces of Herbology on weekends when he wasn't at the school. Basic classification and plant types are no more difficult for me than Quidditch tidbits, and while Lily doesn't have quite as much prior knowledge, she's not too much slower. I check the clock that my mom gave me for my seventh birthday, a wooden one with two displays- one for the time, one for the charmed alarm settings. It's one-forty, and while we definitely still have time, I want to make a good impression, so I nudge Lily, who gets my meaning immediately. She grabs her cloak from her bedpost, and I realize something.

"Lily, do reserves usually have cloaks?"

"Last year they didn't," she replies with a shrug. "The way we did it was that if you were going to sub in for a starter, the player would lend you the cloak before the game."

I won't lie- I'm a bit disappointed. After all, those cloaks were _really, really_ _cool._

As we make our way down to the pitch, I notice a weird noise coming from the broom cupboard at the entrance to the castle.

I open the door and nearly scream. There's a shirtless _Albus freaking Potter_ kissing a partially-dressed Cassidy Finnigan, who actually does scream.

"Oh Merlin, I didn't need to see that!" Lily exclaims, covering her face with both hands.

Al, though, says nothing for a while before speaking in a calm voice.

"Sorry you had to see that, Lils," he quips with a cheeky smirk, not even bothering to acknowledge me.

I compose myself for a second before declaring in my sternest Prefect voice, "Ten points from both Gryffindor _and_ Slytherin for inappropriate conduct."

That _definitely _got Al's attention. He turns to me, and for a long moment I'm regretting speaking up. Oh, for all that is sweet and good in this world, shirtless Al Potter makes me curse that I was born a straight female. His hard abs, muscled chest, and dangerously tight arms leave my face burning, and then there's his wild, disheveled raven hair, all topping off his now intense gaze directed straight at yours truly. Kill me now.

"Pray tell, how were we behavinginappropriately, _Longbottom_? Can't a bloke kiss his girlfriend in privacy?" he drawls smoothly.

"What I just witnessed can hardly be called kissing, _Potter. _Try _clothed shagging,_" I snarl in response. For once, I don't back down, staring him right in those endless emerald orbs that he passes off as eyes.

Our game of visual chicken ends abruptly; that slag Finnigan pulls Albus away, and he puts on his shirt before walking back into the hall.

I'm going to practice my arse off until I get to slam the Quaffle right past that stupid, arrogant face, It's on, Potter.


	3. James Potter, Resident Slave Driver

**Chapter Three: James Potter, Resident Slave Driver**

**A/N: Another update! Surprisingly, I'm now swimming in free time, and it's only going to get better in two weeks when school ends; expect updates every 2-3 days after then.**

**In this chapter, we'll get to see how the Gryffindor team practices and we'll meet a couple of Alice's new teammates. In later chapters, I probably won't describe practices in such detail, so bear with me.**

**Disclaimer: Still waiting, still not Jo Rowling, still don't own Harry Potter.**

* * *

_**Gryffindor House Quidditch Team Roster**_

_**Congratulations if you made the team and thanks to all who tried out!**_

_**Starting lineup:**_

_Chasers: Alvin Bennet, Gilbert O'Connell, Lily Potter_

_Beaters: Grzegorz Dracik, Claire Wood_

_Seeker: James Potter (C)_

_Keeper: Alex Wood (A)_

_**Reserve lineup:**_

_Chasers: Derek Donahue, Jessica Herrera, Eileen Jordan, Alice Longbottom, Wilma Pan, Benjamin Terrell_

_Beaters: Sarah Davidson, William Keeton, Harry Norowitz, Andrew White_

_Seekers: Stephen Kim, Robert Purcell_

_Keepers: Felicia Hill, Aaron Thomas_

* * *

Thanks to Albus Potter and his penchant for broom-closet exhibitionism, Lily and I arrive to an already quite-crowded pitch. There, sitting smack dab in the first row of the stands are James and Alex, clearly in the middle of a heated conversation. Now while James has a reputation for being a goofy git (particularly around his equally mischievous cousin Fred), he's every bit as serious about Quidditch as I am. Lily had told me over the summer that James was planning to join a League team, and looking professional in front of the recruiters that would surely be present at some of our games this year would mean the difference being drafted by Puddlemere or Montrose and having to beg the Cannons for a reserve spot.

We stroll onto the field, brooms in hand, and I do a quick mental count of the loose bunches of people scattered around the field, some talking to friends, others sitting alone. Sixteen, seventeen…with me and Lily, there are nineteen of us on the field not counting our two leaders on the stands. I groan as I realize that since that adds up to exactly twenty-one, we're the last two to arrive on the pitch. Remind me to kill Al Potter when I see him again.

James clearly notices us walking in, as he stands and casts the amplifying charm on himself. "Welcome to the first practice of the year. Now we're going to start with introductions, as it's important to know who you're going to be playing alongside for the next nine months. Stand where everyone can see you, and state your name, year and position. In case you've forgotten, I'm James Potter, seventh year starting Seeker and Captain, at your service," James finishes with a grin.

"Alex Wood, sixth year starting Keeper and Assistant Captain, and I'd rather kiss Simons on the arse than be at any of you lot's service," Alex adds with a theatrical bow, to everyone's vocal amusement.

"Claire Wood, fifth year starting Beater, and try not to pay too much mind to my loony brother," I hear my other close friend pipe up, drawing a comical double take from Alex on the stands. Lily and I snicker at the back of the crowd.

The introductions go without a hitch; most of the players don't add anything all that interesting, until I hear a high-pitched voice ring out.

"Eileen Jordan, reserve Chaser. Second year," the girl adds proudly. Now _that_ gets my attention. I look over to spot my fellow reserve, a tiny girl with dark-brown skin and a smile that can only be described as downright impish.

A few moments later, and it's my turn. I gulp.

"Alice Longbottom, fifth year reserve Chaser," I stammer in the loudest voice I can muster with everyone staring straight at me. I feel like hiding in a hole until Lily steadies me with a firm arm on my shoulder.

"Lily Potter, fifth year starting Chaser," Lily calls out with all the confidence I wish I had.

"All right, now I hope you were paying attention, as there's going to be a drill on names at the end of practice," James announces with a smile. The players go deathly silent but I can barely stifle a snort, and Lily doesn't even bother attempting to conceal her amusement. Really, James isn't the best at taking the mickey in a, er, subtle fashion.

A raven-haired girl- Wilma, I recall- raises her hand and James responds, "Oi, we don't need any of that. Alex and I aren't your professors, though I wish we were. Detention's a better motivator than running laps, in my opinion."

"Agree to disagree," chipped in Alex with a cheeky grin.

"Anyways, just shout out your question," James continues.

Wilma clears her throat. "What do we do at practices? Er- I mean, what do the reserve players do? Certainly we can't all be on the field at once, that'd be mad," she stammers.

"Good question," Alex responds. "The starting team will obviously have a bigger share of time out on the actual field, but make no mistake: we'll have something for everyone to do every practice. That brings me to the first thing we're going to do today," Alex states in a frighteningly excited voice. "Take it away, Jamesie-poo."

Uh-oh, this can't be good.

"Right then, onto today's practice. A certain cousin of mine gave me her workout routine, and we'll be using that today," James declares with what he tries to pass off as a nonchalant shrug, but I can see a very poorly-concealed grin starting to form on his face. Great, my best friend's two brothers are an arsehole sex god and a Quidditch sadist. This is shaping up to be a bloody fantastic year already.

"We'll start by doing a Muggle exercise called 'push-ups'. Alex will demonstrate; watch carefully. If you don't do 'em right, I'll make you start over." At that, Alex descends from his perch on the stand and plants himself in front of us, facedown, and proceeds to lift himself off the ground several times using his arms. Well, that doesn't look too bad.

"So how many do you want, O Captain?" a roguish-looking boy about a year or so younger than me asks.

"I'm in a good mood today, chaps, so let's say forty." Apparently the number forty isn't all too threatening, and I don't see a reason to complain.

About fifteen "push-ups" and a handful of muttered swear words later, and I realize three things. One- bugger James Potter and bugger Rose Weasley; these damn things hurt, and there's no way in hell I'm going to be able to make it to forty on these spindly things that I call arms. Two- apparently, I'm not alone, judging by all the groaning around me. Even Lily's starting to breathe audibly, and she hasn't done much more than I have. The only ones who are holding up decently are Claire (with her muscular frame and upper body strength courtesy of playing Beater), James, Alex, and surprisingly, Grzegorz. Three- what the bloody hell did I get myself into thinking I could play this blasted game?

"Remind me to kill James later," Lily moans as she flops to the ground by my side. If anyone questioned why we were best friends, there's your answer.

"I'd say we kill Rose instead, but she'd probably murder us with both eyes closed," I manage to grunt. Lily only nods in agreement before getting up to attempt another push-up.

Though I earn several reprimands from James and Alex for attempting to weasel through with my knees on the ground, I eventually hit forty and promptly collapse, burning arms and dirtied practice shirt and all, into the ground.

"Good work, people," James declares shortly after I finish my last one. Great, that means I'm last. Again. "Now we're going to do laps around the pitch," he states, and before he can even finish, people are running to the side of the field where all the brooms are sitting at the moment.

"OI, COME BACK HERE!" Alex yells. "Who said anything about _flying _laps, you stupid prats?" We freeze.

"That's right," James adds. "We're _running_ laps around the pitch. Ten laps, to be precise, and if I catch you walking, I'll make you do more. Now get to it!"

* * *

An hour later, and I'm about ready to pass out. After that grueling run, James had us do a variety of obscure stretches and exercises, and we've yet to take to our brooms. Eventually, though, James and Alex pick up their brooms, and though every part of me my body is in agony, my mind snaps to attention. This is the part that matters; if I can prove myself on the pitch, then it doesn't matter how terrible my physical fitness is (and boy is it terrible).

"We're going to fly drills now, so now's the time to get your brooms and get moving," I hear Alex call out. Hell, it's about time.

James starts by flying around the edge of the pitch, and Alex follows. There's no need for instructions; everyone catches on right away, and we fly a couple laps before James and Alex move into position in the center of the pitch.

"Passing drills," Claire comments as she scoots up by my hovering broom, her Beater's bat in hand. Sure enough, moments later I spot Lily flying down to collect a huge bag of Quaffles from the chest that's been sitting on the field.

"Get in your groups! Chasers, follow Lily," James calls, and I take off before I can hear him call out the others. After a bit of maneuvering, we manage to form a complete circle of all nine players. I look around, going clockwise. Immediately to my left is Derek Donahue, a stocky, brown-haired fourth-year of medium height. Alvin Bennet, the dark-haired sixth-year starter, and Wilma Pan, a slender, raven-haired fourth-year, are next. Across from me in the circle are the pretty Jessica Herrera and none other than my nemesis from tryouts, Gilbert O'Connell, a fairly good-looking guy (I hate to admit) with spiky golden-blonde hair and a classically square jaw. Next to him are Eileen Jordan (the only player on the entire team smaller than me) and Benjamin Terrell, a blond bloke who's both quite tall and quite, erm, well-built for a third-year. And, of course, to my left is Lily, who somehow manages to look gorgeous even while sweaty and flustered.

We space out and start with stationary passing, and I notice right away that everyone here is _good_, or at least good enough that nobody comes close to dropping the Quaffle while catching or passing. Eileen's the biggest surprise, as despite her small size and her distance from me, I nearly fall over after a particularly fierce pass from her. I also realize that Lily's getting a disproportionate number of passes, and it's definitely not because she's the senior Chaser, judging by the grins that Bennet, O'Connell, and Donahue are sporting while passing to my best friend.

We're about fifteen minutes in when Alex drops by in the middle of a long pass by Gilbert O'Connell to Lily, who grabs the Quaffle effortlessly. Actually, nearly effortlessly- I can see her telltale lip bite that means something's bothering her. I follow her line of sight and immediately catch on; O'Connell is staring straight at her.

"Nice catch, beautiful. Looks like you and I make a good team," O'Connell declares, not even attempting to conceal his lecherous grin. That prat! I'm seriously tempted to snatch the Quaffle from Lily and chuck it right at O'Connell's stupidly smug face.

Surprisingly, I'm not the angriest one. Lily, of course, takes it all in stride; I figure that if she were to get angry at every git that catcalled her, asked her out, or otherwise harassed her, she'd have gone mad long ago. No, it's _Alex_, of all people, who looks like he's ready to kill the bloke.

"Leave her alone, O'Connell," Alex growls with none of the usual easygoing charm in his voice.

"Oi, calm down, Wood, I didn't mean any harm. After all, didn't you and Potter suggest that we- er, what was the phrase- get to know everyone?"

The challenge goes unspoken, but everyone can see the tension in the air as the starting Chaser and Assistant Captain stare at each other for a good minute or so before Alex decides to be the bigger man.

"Alright, you lot, you'll be doing flying passes around the left side of the field for the remainder of the half-hour," he begrudgingly declares, flying away to where the Keepers are doing their stationary drills.

Now I knew that Alex was serious about Quidditch, but something was definitely up; normally he'd be the last bloke to call someone out for breaking the rules. Besides, as much as I disliked O'Connell on the principle that he beat me for the starting spot (and yes, I'm petty), I have to admit that flirting wasn't exactly the most serious transgression. I'll have to remember to bug Alex about it later.

The flying drills go without an incident, but I do take the time to make some observations about my teammate. It's clear that out of the nine of us, Lily's the best by a huge margin, pulling off incredible dives and loops while most of us are struggling with basic plays. She's literally not much worse than most of the starting Chasers in the professional leagues, and if Claire's right about the increased scouting interest with the Simons system, Lily will probably have offers lining up for her before the end of this year. Then there's O'Connell and Bennet; while they're not Lily, it's pretty obvious why James picked them over the rest of us for the main team. O'Connell's a natural when it comes to passes, throwing accurately and smoothly while attempting to wink at Lily. I find myself even more jealous of him than before; I mean, if I had hand-eye coordination like that, I'd probably make a half-decent Chaser myself. Alvin Bennet, on the other hand, is a bloody nimble flyer, the only one who can even attempt some of Lily's maneuvers. As for the reserves, there's also no shortage of talent, to my dismay. (Hey, a girl's gotta try to get some field time, you know?) Benjamin and Eileen spend most of the time passing to each other, and judging by their synergy, I'd wager that they practiced for the tryouts together. Wilma and Jessica are both quite graceful if a bit predictable on their passes, and Derek lacks finesse but has a monstrous throwing arm. As for me, well, I'm probably the worst flyer of the group, and while my aim is good when I have time to think ahead, I'm rubbish when put on the spot. Hell, I managed to chuck the Quaffle into thin air at least two or three times over the course of the drill. I peek over at the stands, where James is watching, and groan. Looks like I'm never going to see an actual game, am I?

* * *

After the drills end, we touch down and form a crowd in front of the stands where our captains are. James and Alex call for the main team to take the field and I realize with a start that this is going to be a scrimmage, and for that they'll need seven of the reserves. I can already feel my heart thumping against my chest.

"Robert Purcell, Felicia Hill, William Keeton, Andrew White-"

Please, call me. Pretty please?

"Eileen Jordan, Benjamin Terrell, and Wilma Pan."

Bugger. Well, what was I expecting?

The rest of us head up the stands to take a seat in the first row. I'm sitting at the left end, next to Stephen of all people.

We're silent until five minutes into the game, when someone down the bench comments, "Merlin, I still can't believe I'm on the team with players like Lily Potter and Alex Wood. Someone pinch me in case this is all a dream."

I look over, and there's Jessica Herrera sitting with a goofy, wistful smile, and all of a sudden I feel a bit guilty; after all, she was right. We're lucky to be on a team with a bunch of future professionals.

"She's amazing," I add. "Lily, that is. She and Claire are the whole reason I tried out in the first place. Without them I wouldn't be here." Now all eyes are on me until Derek Donahue chips in.

"So you're friends with them?"

"Best friends," I proudly declare. I see one of the girls- a blond fifth year named Sarah Davidson, I recall- shoot me a vaguely hostile glance with her steely grey eyes.

"Think you can introduce me to Claire?" Derek asks with a cheeky smile on his slightly round face.

"Sure, but I think she might be interested in someone," I quip, sneaking a glance at Stephen. Sure enough, he's trying to look at the game with a straight face, but the blush on his handsomely tan face tells me exactly what I needed to know.

"Is that how it works, Longbottom?" Davidson asks. "It just so happens that you're friends with two of the best players on the team. I'm sure the tryouts weren't biased at all, were they?"

"Oh shut it, Davidson," a tall boy with light orange hair growls from the other end of the bench. "We haven't played a bloody game yet and you already think you're better than everyone here, is that it? Trust the captain's judgment; we're all good players." I like the bloke already.

"Norowitz, if last year's bloody farce of a team taught us anything, it's that Gryffindor's had nothing but bad leadership ever since my brother graduated," a boy with light-brown skin and dark-brown hair comments. I realize that he's Jeremy Thomas's younger brother, Aaron.

"Your brother was a shite captain. The only reason Gryffindor won the cup that year was Dom Weasley, not sodding Thomas," Davidson snarls. Note to self- Merlin, that girl is a nasty piece of work.

She's partially right, though; Lily's cousin Dominique Weasley, known today as the starting Seeker for the Montrose Magpies, had caught nearly every single Snitch that year and won Gryffindor the cup- literally singlehandedly.

"Oi, you watch what you say about Jeremy, you slag!" Aaron Thomas shouts in response. Thankfully, before the argument can escalate, a raucous cheer erupts from the sky, and we all turn our attention back to the game. I spot James soaring with the Snitch in hand, and I turn to Stephen, who's smiling and clapping for his captain.

"Hey, Stephen, you were watching the game, right? What was the score?" I ask in a thinly veiled attempt to start a conversation. I figure that I might as well get to know the quiet bloke, seeing as how Claire's been getting quite cozy with him as of late.

"Oh, er, Alice," he stammers. I've clearly caught him off guard. "I- Well, the main team won, I think two-hundred thirty to fifty."

"That's actually pretty close," I comment, not knowing what else I should say.

"I think Felicia Hill's a fantastic keeper," he responds with a grin. "And Benjamin and Eileen are a really good duo, so that's why they managed to score on Alex."

"Wow, I was thinking the same thing." Argh, stupid me. Why can't I say anything but awkward one-liners?

Stephen laughs softly. "I've been the biggest Quidditch fan since I was five, but I've never really had the bollocks to actually try out until this year. I have Claire to thank for that," he adds with the warmest grin yet.

"Same here," I reply dumbly. Except you're bloody brilliant at the game, and I'm more bloody likely to kill someone, I add mentally. Also, more one-liners! Hooray for Alice Longbottom, Conversationalist Extraordinaire.

"Do you have a favorite team?" he asks.

"Puddlemere," I respond with a cheeky grin. "I think Claire would kill me otherwise."

Stephen and I just laugh.

"I'm partial to the Cannons myself, and she won't stop taking the piss out of me for that. Anyways, I think we're wrapping up, by the looks of it," he comments, looking toward the field. Sure enough, I see Claire and Lily climbing up the stands to find us, and I wave.

* * *

I end up waiting for James and Alex, so Lily, Claire, and Stephen head back to the castle together.

"I think that went fairly well," James comments as I hear the pair of them slowly walk toward the entrance where I'm standing. I realizing that I'm eavesdropping and briefly consider running away or jumping up and shouting something, but I'm too bloody curious for my own good.

"Keep an eye out for that bloody prat O'Connell," Alex growls. "He's got his eyes all over Lily, and I don't like the way he looks at her."

"Lil tends to get that kind of attention, but you're right. O'Connell was a dodgy one last year, and I don't trust him farther than I can _Leviosa_ him," James adds warily.

Last year? Gilbert O'Connell was a reserve; what had happened to make James distrust him?

Before they say anything else, though, they spot me, and I freeze.

"I-er- just wanted to thank you. For letting me play on the team, I mean. I know I'm not the best player out there, but I've always dreamed of playing for the House team, and now it's happening," I blurt rapidly.

Alex only shakes his head with a playful smirk while James smiles kindly at me.

"Alice, stop. I didn't pick you out of pity or to make Lil happy, if that's what you're thinking. Believe it or not, you're on the team for one reason: you have a lot of potential and a willingness to work hard to get what you want," James states. "Although I do admit that last bit may or may not have anything to do with the training sessions you did over the summer with Lily. I was there, remember? In fact, I recall playing a certain game, over the summer. You're loads better at playing Chaser than I am, though that's not saying all that much," he laughs.

I smile, remembering that one crazy day in mid-July; it was me, Lily, Claire versus James, Alex, and Albus on the Wood family pitch. Since there were only six of us, everybody played Chaser. It had been Claire who had suggested the idea, and I remember Alex and Al's indignant sputtering that between the boys, none of them were actually Chasers. Granted, Alex's Chaser skills are pretty damn good (granted, he and Claire have been playing since before they could walk) - but I swear that while Claire doesn't look a whole lot like her petite mother Katie, her play was definitive proof for everyone that she was without a doubt the ace Chaser's daughter. And since we had both Lily _and_ Claire, even with my awful flying we won by a huge margin. Lily wouldn't stop taking the piss out of James for the rest of the summer.

Alex interrupts my reverie. "Hell, look at Freddie. He's living proof that James doesn't put people on the team for personal reasons."

"Actually, that _was_ for personal reasons. My personal safety, namely," James quips with a grin as the two of them break out into laughter.

"Oi! I resent that," I hear a voice call out from behind me. There's Lily's cousin Fred Weasley, all tall and tan and mischievous smiles. I knew that he and James were best friends, and that while Alex was a sixth-year unlike James and Fred, the three of them were nearly as close as the Trio.

"Anyways," James says, turning to me. "We've got mischief to manage, so I'll just say that I'm glad you're on the team, Alice. And don't worry, you'll get to play a game- maybe not the first one or two, but I'm sure that the way you're practicing, you'll be bloody fantastic in no time."

I'm going to get to play? I'm going to get to play!

I don't follow the boys back, instead choosing to fly around the pitch a couple more times before sunset, to clear my foolishly elated head; by the time I head back to the castle, the daylight's a dim yellowish-orange. As I approach the centuries-old building, though, something catches my eye. Two long shadows on the ground dance before me, and I nearly gasp as they come into contact. This isn't some kind of game, I realize; they're _fighting_. And while a part of me wants to just ignore it and run (yay for that Gryffindor courage), I still am a Prefect, after all.

"Who's there?" I shout as I run around the side of the castle only to be met by a pair of familiar blue eyes.


	4. DADAS?

**Chapter Four: Defense against the Dark Art…of Shirtless-ness **

**A/N: Yikes, it's been a while since my last update. Anyways, those evil, evil college finals are done (at least for the year) and summer is here, so expect more frequent updates from yours truly.**

**In this chapter, Alice stumbles across something peculiar and trudges through the first Monday of the school year; she might be magical, but nobody likes Mondays. Also, we'll get to see a certain new professor in action…hint, hint!**

**Disclaimer: Four chapters in and Jo Rowling still hasn't handed me possession of all of her wonderful characters on a silver platter; woe is me.**

* * *

"Who's there?" I shout while turning the corner.

I gasp as a pair of sharp blue eyes meets mine, just inches away from my face as I nearly crash into none other than Rose Weasley, her face impassive other than a slight expression of surprise. Behind her I spot the combatants: two shirtless boys wearing an unusual type of armor that consists of brown padding strung together. The taller of the two is handsomely pale, with short platinum-blonde hair and a wide smirk that compliments his angular facial features; I recognize him immediately as Scorpius Malfoy. The other bloke is- bugger it all- Albus Potter, standing slightly bent with one hand clutching his abdomen.

"What the hell is going on here?" I growl, slowly sliding one hand into my robes, fumbling for my wand.

"Training," Rose replies evenly. I turn back to her and notice that she's also wearing padding; unlike the boys, however, she's wearing a shirt under the armor. The sleeveless white Muggle garment, soaked with sweat, sticks to Rose's fit frame, accenting her small chest and hard abs.

"I know what I saw. Those two were punching each other, Rose! We're Prefects; it's our job to stop fights, not encourage them," I exclaim.

"Relax," Al's smooth voice interrupts. He's walking up to me and I can see the sweat glistening off his heaving torso. "We're _sparring_. And why exactly are you here, Longbottom? Can't get enough of me shirtless, so you resort to peeking, is that it?"

A wave of heat creeps from my body into my face, partly due to the insinuation and partly due to his proximity to me.

"Sod off, Potter. If you weren't so full of yourself, you'd realize that nobody wants to see your half-naked arse prancing around the grounds," I growl.

"You're cute when you're mad, _Alice,_" he chuckles, crossing his arms. That git! Part of me wants nothing more than to smack his (admittedly attractive) smile right off that stupid face.

"Alice." The third voice belongs to Scorpius, who's the last to approach. "I understand that you're just being a good Prefect, but trust me. Rose and I have been Prefects since last year, and McGonagall didn't have any problem with it," he calmly states, his soft grey eyes fixing on mine.

"And Simons?" I continue, completely unconvinced.

It's Rose who replies this time. "We'd appreciate it if you don't mention this to anyone. Simons- well, it's his first year as Headmaster and he might crack down on us just for good measure. You know, setting a precedent and whatnot," she explains while plopping down onto the grass. "We know what we're doing, and nobody's getting hurt."

Everyone's silent as I attempt to process everything. Finally, I pipe up.

"Why?"

"What do you mean?" Rose questions.

"Why are you fighting the Muggle way? There's safer training routines to get fit and better ways to take down a bloke," I elaborate. "You know that better than anyone else, seeing as how you're the Dueling Club's president."

Rose gives me a perplexing smile. After a pause, she says, "Why do you like playing Quiditch?"

I'm not sure what to say, so I just fidget in place while trying to give an answer that doesn't sound half-arsed. Finally I come up with something.

"It's exhilarating, flying and scoring and all that," I blurt.

"You feel alive out on the pitch, don't you? Hurling through the air at breakneck speed," she continues with a knowing grin.

"Yeah, that sounds about right. How'd you know?" I respond, only to be met by a snort from Al.

"In case you haven't noticed, pretty much everyone in our bloody enormous family loves the game," he bluntly butts in. "Why do you think I play the game, to show off in front of the birds? I'm bloody attractive enough without my Keeper skills," he smirks.

"Humble, too," Rose adds with a light wiggle of the eyebrows, and I can't help but laugh with her. "Anyways, Alice, my answer's the same as yours. When I was thirteen, Hugo and I spent a summer with my Muggle grandparents on Mum's side, and the teenage blokes down at the park picked on me. Since I couldn't use magic to defend myself- for obvious reasons- I had to learn to fight the way they did, and it was liberating. I felt like I was discovering a completely new part of me, a part that doesn't exist for most wizards outside of Aurors and Quidditch players. In fact, I think there's a lot to be said about the way Muggles live. They get on just fine without magic. It's amazing, really," she states with excitement unusual for her usually ice-cool demeanor.

"Ok, now you're just quoting Grandpa Weasley," Al snorts.

"Hm, I'd say that was more Professor Galloway," Scorpius chimes in.

"So what you're saying is that fighting blokes is your idea of a good time?" I ask skeptically.

Rose shrugs. "It's all adrenaline. We're both what those Muggle blokes would call 'junkies'."

"Adrena-what?" My face is definitely a picture of confusion at this point.

"See, that's what I'm talking about. There's quite a lot that we could pick up if only those daft old men running the Ministry would stuff their bloody pride and tradition in a hole. As much as I love Hogwarts, I've picked up quite a bit from reading Muggle textbooks," Rose replies. "And adrenaline- it's a substance that our bodies produce when we're risking our arses doing something exciting or dangerous."

"So why don't you play Quidditch, then? Is it the heights or the flying?"

"Neither. I just find Muggle martial arts more exciting than balls and broomsticks. There's nothing like dropping a bloke to the floor," she states with a smirk. Yeah, note to self: never piss off Rose.

"And it's not just good for self-defense," Scorpius chimes in. "Martial arts train reflexes, snap judgment, watching movements- sound familiar?"

I think it over for a long while before giving him an incredulous stare. "Are you implying that trading blows with your girlfriend and her habitually shirtless best friend helps you improve at _Qudditch_?"

"A twitch of an opponent's roving eyes and the flash of a Snitch aren't all that dissimilar, you know," Scorpius explains with a smile.

"You're a Chaser- or at least that's what you fancy yourself, isn't it? Well if you don't want to be rubbish, it helps to know your way around…bodily contact," Al drawls suggestively while removing his armor to reveal his toned form to me for the second time today. I mentally shake off my stupidly hormones before scowling at him.

"Oh, you better believe that I'm a Chaser, Potter, and I'll throw the Quaffle right past your stupid head, even if it means crashing right through your entire bloody team." I turn to Scorpius. "No offense."

"None taken," he chuckles before walking off to grab his practice robe sitting on the ground. The still very-much-shirtless Albus Potter, however, walks dangerously close to me, his frame towering over mine by a good seven inches- but I don't back down, staring him right in his Potter-green eyes. Hmm, Potter green; I like the sound of that. Anyways, back to the situation: Al Potter…shirtless…so close to my face that all I'd have to do is lean inward and upward a few inches and I'd be _kissing_ him right on those attractively rough lips. Argh, where was I going with that train of thought? It's a miracle I haven't done something incredibly stupid in response to this admittedly not-entirely-unwelcome violation of personal space. Luckily, I don't have to do anything, as the cocky git starts speaking in his typical confident timbre.

"That's funny, _Alice_. I seem to remember blocking a shot or two- or all of them- at your House tryouts, but I don't seem to recall you trying to- how did you put it- throw the Quaffle right past me? If I didn't know better, I'd have though that a fearless Gryffindor was _scared._ Anyways, whatever it is, I hope you put it aside; I don't want the matches against you to be too easy," he taunts in his oh-so-sexy-but-infuriating voice.

Furious, I huff and storm off toward the castle, barely remembering to wave a brief goodbye to Rose and Scorpius.

* * *

By the time dinner rolls around, I've come to a realization: oh Merlin, Al Potter was right. Not just about being scared- that was impossible to deny from the beginning. Nope, it was seeing Scorpius and Al's training regime; it's not just that they're tough and can take a walloping but also that they're so _coordinated_ while I'm as clumsy as a troll in dancing shoes. And if even a second-year like Eileen can fly circles around me, working hard at practice won't be enough by a long shot. The craziest idea pops into my head, and I'm eager to consult my close friends. Knowing that Claire's probably off making googly eyes at a certain reserve Seeker at the moment, I look around the hall for Lily's signature red hair in the hubbub of the Great Hall, but she's nowhere to be found.

I finally come across my best friend, curled up in bed with the same Muggle book from earlier today in hand. Lily only reads recreationally when she's either bored or bothered, and from the look on her face I instantly know it's the latter.

"Something's up, isn't it?" I softly question while sitting down next to her on her bed.

"Nothing important," she mutters, flipping a page.

"Lil, you're normally the life of the Common Room, yet here you are at eight in the evening on a Sunday night, reading- what is this?"

"Some Muggle romance book Aunt Hermione sent me over the summer," she replies neutrally.

"Well anyways, I've known you since before I could pronounce your name- hell, before I could pronounce mine. And the expression on your face screams 'There is something wrong in the wonderful world of Lily Luna Potter.'"

She puts the book down and sighs. "Would you believe me if I said it was a bloke?"

Wow. Alright, I'll admit that I didn't expect that, for two reasons. And yes, I'm making another one of my famed numbered lists, so enjoy.

One- most girls would kill to be Lily Potter; she's been asked out by some of the most popular blokes in the Castle, and while Lily's been on plenty of Hogsmeade dates, she's never had a serious boyfriend. Claire used to joke that the only reason she hasn't been asked by every boy at Hogwarts was because her dad scared off a good percentage of the hopefuls.

Two- most girls would rather _be_ killed than ask Alice Longbottom, High Queen of the Noble State of Never-Been-Kissed and Lady Champion of the Plain and Awkward, for boy advice. Yep, I've never locked lips with a bloke; in fact, I'm pretty sure a majority of the boys haven't even _noticed_ me beyond being the daughter of the Herbology Professor and the odd one out among Lily Potter and Claire Wood. There's only been one boy who's ever held any interest in me, and that was before he realized that he was Hugo Weasley.

Yep, Rose's little brother used to have a tiny crush on yours truly. Of course, back then we were thirteen and he was a small, bookish Ravenclaw in a castle full of rapidly-growing boys with deeper voices and bigger frames; Lily and I were his two closest female friends. Nowadays he's drop-dead gorgeous with an equally attractive girlfriend. I force myself to get my head out of commiserating over my own boy problems and back to Lily…only to realize that I don't know what to say. Argh! Frantic, I decide that humor might be a good remedy.

"Boy trouble? What, did you run out of hands to swat them off of you?" I state with a shaky grin, attempting to cheer Lily up. She doesn't laugh, and I pale, cursing my damn social a pause, I continue. "I'm really sorry, that was a shite joke. Did some git try something on you? I'll rip his bollocks off and stuff 'em up his-"

"No," Lily quickly blurts. "It's not a big deal, really. I just don't think this bloke, er…" she stammers before faltering.

I just give her a quizzical look before she continues.

"I don't think he feels about me the way I feel about him," she states in a quiet, embarrassed voice.

"How do you know?" I ask gently.

"I, er, overheard him talking to someone, dunno who exactly," Lily mumbles.

"You didn't see them? How'd you know this was your bloke?"

"No, but I'd recognize his voice anywhere. Anyways, he was saying that I was basically another bloke," she murmurs dejectedly.

I just hug Lily, and for once I find myself neither envying my best friend nor living vicariously through her successes on the love front. Instead, we lie on her bed and drift to a miserable sleep- but at least we're miserable together.

* * *

The morning hits like a bag of bricks; I barely manage to haul my sorry arse to my first class of the day, Defense against the Dark Arts, and plop down in a desk near the front, where my best friends are sitting. Claire and Lily are faring somewhat better, but the effects of a double-header Quidditch weekend aren't lost on them, either. I look around the classroom and surprisingly, I don't see anyone who could be our professor despite the fact that I'm already a minute or two late. Lily had stated that Teddy Lupin was going to arrive by Monday, and while I wasn't particularly close to her godbrother, I've seen him enough times at the Potter household to know him by sight.

Suddenly a ruckus erupts in the classroom, and I immediately spot the cause. At the door stands a thin man of middling height and pale skin, dressed in dark robes. But what startled my classmates was the man's face: snow-white with no nose, only nostrils, perched below serpentine scarlet eyes. A coil of fear runs down my body; despite never having met the man in my life, I know exactly who this is. How could I not? After all, my father had spent a great deal of his school life fighting this monster and had played a crucial part in his ultimate defeat. Yet here he was, standing in our Defense against the Dark Arts classroom- Voldemort.

My first instinct was to scream, but bugger that; I reach for my wand, ready to cast a Stunning Spell at the Dark Wizard in front of me when I suddenly feel the wooden instrument fly out from my hand into the air, and a quick glance all around confirms that the same had happened to the rest of us, all our wands suspended ten feet in the air. But before anyone could burst into tears or a panic attack, Lily shouts, "Look!"

Something incredibly odd occurs over the next few seconds: the man's entire body transforms. Facial features distort into an entirely new countenance, and the figure shrinks a good couple inches. By the end, what stands in front of us is a grubby man with frayed brown hair, prominent teeth, and small, ratlike eyes, but only for a good ten seconds or so before the transformation begins anew. This time, he turned into a hulking man with a pale, sneering face and wide, dark eyes, before morphing into a frightening woman with a strong jaw and long eyelashes all topped off with a head full of twisted black hair. Yet another transformation then begins, but somehow I can tell that this one is different, slower and more deliberate than the other three. The figure grows taller, more muscular, and younger with every passing second.

Long before it's all over I realize who this is, but I'm still too awestruck to say anything. The figure wordlessly dispels the black robes with a flick of his wand to reveal a rather normal-looking sweater-and-vest ensemble. The man before us is quite young, roughly the same age as Professor Galloway, but far less innocuous in appearance; his hard muscles are visible even with the thick sweater sleeves, and he's very tall, taller than Scorpius and maybe even James. Though some of his facial features are handsomely boyish, there's hardness to his expression, accentuated by the small but pronounced scar running from the bottom of his well-defined jaw to his cheekbone. But most eye-catching of all is the shock of electric blue hair in wild strands; while he doesn't completely resemble the teenager I knew from childhood visits to the Potter home, there's no mistaking that color.

"I'm Edward Remus Lupin, and I'll be your Defense Professor this year. First of all, apologies for the shock; I know most of you weren't expecting to see the most dangerous Dark Wizard of all time coming to a Hogwarts class in the morning. Oh, and I'm assuming that it's safe to return your wands at this point without you all hexing me," he says calmly, and with neither incantation nor wand movement from his end, slowly our own wands drop until they reach the desks, and my classmates are all staring, bug-eyed, at the impressive display of control. Clearly, Teddy's noticed, as he gives us a chuckle.

"Anyways," he continues, "you're probably wondering why I pulled that little stunt; I'll explain shortly after I tell you a bit about myself. I graduated from Hogwarts six years ago as a member of Gryffindor House and entered Auror training shortly thereafter. I became a full-fledged Auror at age eighteen and spent the next five years taking missions all across the world; I earned this in one of my first international trips, a failed raid on an American Muggle-slavery ring," he states while brushing over the scar, earning a gasp from a few of the students. I look over at Lily- calm for the most part, but I can see that her eyes are slightly moister than usual. "After I returned from South Africa a week ago, I contacted Hogwarts and found that this post was open, so I finalized my resignation and here I am," he states with a grin.

"Why did you retire?" a voice pipes up from the back of the room, amending, "If that's not too personal, Professor."

"Well, as long as I can remember, I've wanted to become a teacher after spending a decade or two on the Auror force, but I leftearly for the same reason I wasn't here for the past few days; my wife Vic is pretty far along in her pregnancy, and she's been having Braxton-Hicks contractions."

A wave of congratulations is laced by a considerable amount of confusion, and I'm no exception.

"It's a Muggle term for false labor. Anyways, I've managed to digress, so please excuse me. Now who can name any of the figures that I showed you at the beginning of class? I'll give ten points for each correct name and twenty to the student who knows the particular bit of magic that I performed to facilitate that?"

Nearly every hand in the room shoots into the air.

"Every name _other_ than Voldemort and my own," Professor Lupin amends with a wry smirk.

And….there goes a good ninety-five percent of the hands.

"Yes, Miss...Finnigan?" I look back to spot the tall, buxom girl with sandy hair tied up in pigtails and a haughty expression written all over her slim face. Eugh, I didn't think it was possible to look cockier than Al Potter, but I guess I never considered his girlfriend.

"The second one's Peter Pettigrew. Al, my boyfriend," she inserts with emphasis, "told me all about the horrible things that monster did to his brave grandparents and his dad. He also told me quite a bit about you, _Teddy,_" she croons.

Lily snorts and Claire's mimicking a gagging motion.

"Thank you, though I must insist that you address me as Professor Lupin while we're in the classroom. That goes for all of you," he states evenly while sneaking a not-so-discreet glance at Lily, who just gives him a mischievous smile before turning to me with a waggle of the eyebrows. I roll my eyes as I recall Lily's fondness for calling my dad "Uncle Neville" outside of class.

"And yes, that man is Peter Pettigrew, one of Voldemort's henchmen . He killed many innocent people and betrayed countless others, including my father. Ten points to Gryffindor, Miss Finnigan. And the other two? Anyone?"

This time, nearly every hand stays down, with three exceptions. One belongs to a handsome, tall boy with neat, blazing-red hair and soft blue eyes; while he isn't nearly as jacked as his sister, Hugo Weasley still has quite a fit frame. Between that and his intelligence, approachable demeanor, and gentle good looks, my former admirer has become one of the most swoon-worthy blokes in our year. The second person is a girl around Lily's height with caramel skin and brown eyes and a thin, athletic frame; I instantly recognize her as one of my rival Chasers from the Slytherin Quidditch team, Eloise Zabini. The third is Lily.

Our professor's gaze shoots from Hugo to Lily before landing on Eloise Zabini, and it isn't too difficult to see through Teddy's determination to avoid any accusations of favoritism.

"Miss…Zabini."

"The woman you turned into was Bellatrix Lestrange," she states confidently, adding, "She was my cousin Scorpius's great-Aunt, and even my parents say she was a total bitch."

"Language, Miss Zabini. Since it's the first day, I'll let it slide; ten points to Slytherin. Bellatrix Lestrange was another Death Eater, one responsible for the deaths of dozens, even hundreds of people over the course of the Second War, including my mother and a close friend of my father's, Sirius Black." Out of the corner of my eye, I noticeLily's eyes widening for a split second at the mention of her father's dead godfather. "Now the last, if you please."

Ah, what the hell. I raise my hand, and despite the urge to put it down before anyone can see, I manage to keep my arm in the air. This time Lily and Hugo don't put up their hands, and I'm the only one.

"Miss Longbottom."

"Antonin Dolohov, another Death Eater," I state, my voice surprisingly even.

"Ten points to Gryffindor again. Dolohov murdered my father," Professor Lupin responds. "The point of my demonstration was that for my parents and countless others, that nightmare- a Death Eater coming to kill you in cold blood, a friend stabbing you in the back- was a reality. Defense against the Dark Arts isn't a subject we study for purely academic purposes, and I'm saying this not as an Auror but as your teacher. Many of the Death Eaters started out where you are, as Hogwarts students; Voldemort himself attended this school, sat in these very same classrooms. How different did he look from all of you? What if the next Dark Wizard is sitting with us as I speak? One of my father's associates, an auror by the name of Alastor Moody, preached something called 'constant vigilance'. He was killed by Voldemort while trying to save Harry Potter."

Silence. I close my eyes and involuntarily imagine Voldemort or Dolohov or anyone else trying to kill me and horror holds me mute.

"But don't despair; it is my responsibility to make sure that you are armed in practice, in information, and in mental fortitude. Most importantly, I will teach you to fight fear itself, and once you can face that, you can accomplish wonders. Consider: Antonin Dolohov was brought down by Professor Filius Flitwick, a former student himself. Three young women who, at the time of the Battle of Hogwarts, were not much older than yourselves held off Bellatrix Lestrange; you may have heard the names Luna Lovegood, Ginny Weasley, and, of course, Hermione Granger. And last but certainly not least, the greatest evil our world has ever known was vanquished by a seventeen-year-old who was so passionate about fighting dark magic that he had started teaching his fellow students at a time when proper instruction was nowhere to be found. Harry James Potter was a Defense student, one of the finest this school has ever seen," he concludes in a thunderous voice. I notice that Teddy's hair has turned a variety of colors at its ends.

"Well, it seems that I've gone a bit overboard. Anyways, I had one last question, but I'm guessing you all know the answer, seeing as how you're fifth-years. Yes, I'm a Metamorphagus, and it's been one of the most important assets in my Auror career and in my short but quite illustrious career at causing young students to soil their pants." Laughter ensues. "But today I also employed a fair amount of wandless, wordless magic, which you'll practice later thisyear. Now for your first homework assignment," he starts, only to be met by poorly-concealed groans.

"Just think about what I said, and enjoy your first full week at Hogwarts," he concludes with a grin, and everyone cheers before it's time to leave.

* * *

"Teddy!" Lily exclaims, rushing to hug her godbrother once the classroom's clear of everyone except the two of us, Teddy, and Hugo.

"Hiya, Teddy," Hugo chimes in, as he gives our new professor a slightly more restrained embrace, but a warm one nonetheless.

"Hugo, Lil, I'll admit; I've definitely missed you," he laughs, and the teenager who I had met briefly over those long-past holidays at Lily's house doesn't seem so far away any more.

"And Alice- I haven't seen you since you were a tiny girl playing Qudditch with Lily and Claire," he states with a grin.

"So what you're saying is that nothing's changed, Professor?" I give him an equally cheeky smile.

He laughs again. "Please, call me Teddy when we're not in class. Your dad insists I call him Neville, so it's only fair."

"Well, you two are colleagues now," I shoot back playfully as Teddy concedes with a shrug.

"And why has nobody mentioned, in all the letters I've been getting from you guys, that Al has a girlfriend?"

Hugo doesn't say anything, but Lily pipes up. "None of us particularly like her. She just parades around with Al on her arm, like he's her personal boy toy or something. What do you think, Teddy?" Lily intones with a wicked smile.

"Wh- what?" Teddy stutters. "Cassidy- er, Miss Finnigan- happens to be my student, and it would be utterly unprofessional of me to share any such opinion on her, despite what my evil godsister might be trying to get me to say," he declares with a comically indignant sniff.

The three of us can't stop laughing, and yep- I definitely know which class _I'm _looking forward to this year.

* * *

**A/N: And that's it for this chapter, folks! As usual, PLEASE REVIEW! All you reviewers are wonderful, wonderful people.**


	5. Oh, Brother(s)

**Chapter Five: Oh, Brother(s)**

**A/N: Update! Summer break's been treating me like royalty, so I've had time to think about both my original works and my fanfics. This story will be my focus in the fanfic realm, so expect updates at least once a week and maybe even every 2-3 days.**

**In this chapter, our favorite Quidditch players in red-and-gold run into teamwork problems as the Ravenclaw match quickly approaches. Also, there's personal conflict aplenty for all you drama lovers, and we meet a certain **_**other**_** Captain.**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine, but soon…muahaha. Wait, what do you mean I can't steal one of Jo Rowling's hairs and brew a batch of Polyjuice? Argh, evil plan foiled.**

* * *

"Ow!"

Of course, that wasn't really what I wanted to say; certain four-letter expletives come to mind, but I figure that swearing won't improve my already-poor standing in James and Alex's eyes, so I settle for a milder expression of what it feels like to get smacked in the leg by a Bludger.

After a sheepishly guilty Harry Norowitz manages to rein in the rogue Bludger, we position ourselves for the charmed whistle, and I take stock. Today's the last practice before the opening match, and everything's different; the easygoing, almost playful attitude at the last two practices is long gone, replaced by an air of grim determination, particularly for the starting players. Monday's practice was mostly drills and grueling exercises courtesy of Rose (ironically, a relief for everyone who needed a distraction after a morning of Voldemort and Death Eaters with the lovely Professor Lupin), but today's been scrimmage after scrimmage for the starters, against various mixtures of the reserve players.

I look across the field, where among an armada of red-and-gold cloaks a certain opposing Chaser is grinning straight at me with her lovely red hair in a neat ponytail. Even for Lily, the effects of a third straight scrimmage game in a row are starting to show; sweat shines on the edge of her forehead. I grin back with less exertion; after all, this is my first game of the day. (And, come to think of it, my first practice scrimmage game ever! Hooray. Now I just need to not screw this up.)

The shrill edge of the whistle cuts through the air, and immediately O'Connell, my center Chaser counterpart, locks his blue eyes on mine for a brief moment before taking off, with me just a tiny bit behind. The Quaffle barely passes by my fingers as O'Connell, the bloody git, snatches it and hurls forward, intentionally bumping me into a tailspin in a blatant blatching play. That arsehole! He knows that since we don't have Madam Arlington (or any other ref) on hand for practices, there's nobody who's keenly watching for fouls.

I spot Lily, the fastest of the three Chasers I'm now against, making her way toward the goalposts from the left with Wilma attempting to tail her in vain. Benjamin's managing to keep up slightly better with Alvin, but it hardly matters; a simple pass to Lily would put Aaron Thomas's chances of saving the shot at nearly zero, as he's intently watching O'Connell.

Yet the pass never comes. In what has to one of the dumbest moves I've ever seen a player make, Gilbert O'Connell soars straight toward the goal only to be derailed by an easily-aimed Bludger courtesy of Harry Norowitz, who shakes his shaggy orange-haired head in triumph. Now I'm within an arm's reach of the drifting git, and I effortlessly pluck the Quaffle away before making my way down the pitch.

I briefly take a look up to find the two jostling seekers, and James's expression is horrifying; he's not even looking for the Snitch at the moment, instead staring daggers at O'Connell's gobsmacked face- and rightfully so. I mean, come on, the right play was obvious even to _me._

I'm interrupted from my thoughts by a flash of red out of the corner of my eye, and there's Lily, hot on my tail as I soar into opposing territory from the right side of the pitch, quickly approaching the hoops where Alex is waiting. She's _fast_, and there's no way I'll make it before my mischievous best friend snatches the Quaffle, so I look leftward and spot Benjamin, unguarded at the moment, so I chuck it to him the moment before I feel Lily's cloak grazing my practice shirt as her frighteningly strong hands clutch at mine for an instant before she registers the pass. I look back at the Quaffle, which drifts in its Charmed way downward…to nobody, until Alvin Bennet nimbly grabs it. I look back to Benjamin, who's clutching his broom from below with all four limbs, then to the Bludger flying away from the poor boy, and finally to Claire, who's toting her bat with a grin. Well, it's not exactly difficult to figure out what happened. Damnit, why are my best friends so good at this game?

I actually manage to keep decently close to Lily, but it's no good; Bennet manages to send the Quaffle to Perverted Git- er, Gilbert O'Connell- before Wilma can grab it, and with Thomas looking totally lost, the blond arsehole pitches it in easily. Ten for the Cloaks, zero for the Ragtags.

* * *

The shutout continues for a good fifteen minutes, and we're soon down thirty-zip with possession. Thomas and Davidson are swearing up a storm (mostly at each other), as the former chucks the Quaffle to Wilma Pan, who's still admirably calm as we make our approach in a triangular formation. Lily's on Wilma, who barely manages to get to Quaffle to Benjamin before Claire sends another well-aimed Bludger that the slender girl barely dodges. O'Connell gets on my tail as Bennet accosts my younger teammate from the left side, and I manage to gain some distance before looking Benjamin right in the eyes. A look of understanding flashes across his eyes as he flies rightward, toward me, and O'Connell positions himself between us, speeding up to intercept, when I make my move, swerving upward and to the left before Benjamin throws the Quaffle upward, and I snatch it by the tips of my fingers. Now only Alex stands between me and our first ten points, but he's as formidable as always. He's positioned between the rightward and center hoops while rapidly switching his vision between me and his right, where the left hoop stands. I chuck the Quaffle rightward without a moment's hesitation, and it works; Alex slides to my left, clearly expecting the feint from tryouts. The round ball soars through the hoop, and everyone's silent for a good moment before a cheer breaks out from my side- and boy, it feels _awesome_.

"Damn, Alice, you're a tricky one," Alex shouts, and I shoot him a cheeky grin as he chucks it to Lily.

* * *

The game ends with Stephen catching the Snitch and scoring the reserve group its first win of the day, 180 to 70, and we touch down shortly after.

"Well done," I hear James call from across the field. Surprisingly, he looks bothered but not particularly upset or disappointed at himself; perhaps he's not as tough on himself during practices. I frown. No, that can't be it; from what I've seen in Monday's training and drills, James even forces himself to do extra pushups and laps when there's nobody making him.

We sit down onto the field, all sweaty and exhausted. Lily plops down next to me with a contented sigh, followed by Claire on my other side.

"See, Alice, I knew you had it in you," my blonde friend quips.

"I got lucky," I admit. "O'Connell's a right idiot, and if it were Lily on me for that first goal, there's no way I'd have even caught the pass from Benjamin."

"Hey, don't sell yourself short," Lily pipes up. "You managed to get the Quaffle away from me, and I didn't even notice."

"Uh oh," Claire suddenly interrupts, her eyes looking down the pitch. "Speak of the devil."

Lily and I turn, and there's James and Alex standing with a positively livid Gilbert O'Connell, and their voices quickly become audible even at a dozen yards away.

"So now you're a Chaser too? Sod off."

"I am your _captain_, O'Connell, and you'd best remember that. That stunt you pulled out there? Do you think you're bleeding Galloway or something? I've said this before and I'll say it just one more time, so listen closely. This is a team and you're just another part of it, so play like it or you'll be kissing the bench with your arse," James yells, now dangerously close to the blond boy. I've never seen him this pissed before; even after last year's debacle, he had only been dejected.

"You know what would be good for the _team_, Potter? A hundred and fifty points, on a little golden ball. Go shove your bloody hypocrisy in a hole and _captain_ yourself for once," O'Connell sneers. Merlin, this can't end well.

But before James can reply, Alex steps between them.

"Five laps, and do it now, or you're off the team before we play a single goddamn game," our Assistant Captain declares in a dangerously low voice.

An eternity passes as the players on the field, me included, hold our breaths- but eventually, O'Connell turns around begrudgingly, spitting on the ground before breaking out into a sprint to the edge of the field.

* * *

A few minutes later, and O'Connell's finished, so James calls up the players for another practice game. This time it's a match between two mixed teams, each with a handful of the starters. My name is called somewhere near the end, so I take my place down at the far end of the field. Standing under the hoops are the stocky Robert Purcell, Derek Donahue, a surprisingly calm Sarah Davidson, the lanky Felicia Hill, and- sweet Merlin yes- Lily and Claire, sporting matching grins. _Thank you, James Potter!_

"Alright," I hear James shout with help from his Amplifying Charm. "Now I know you're probably wondering why I've decided to split up the main roster when the game's two days away. Well, today we've mostly been running the plays that we've been practicing, but in tomorrow's match things might not go as planned. The last game today will be a test of unexpected situations- namely, adapting to your teammates. We'll start in a few minutes."

"So I'm taking it that James and Alex are sitting this one out?" I say, turning to Lily and Claire.

"Yep, and it's a good thing in my book," Lily declares with emphasis. "James looked like he was a second away from strangling the git."

"I'm still wondering why exactly they picked the git," I add. "I mean, he can't really be all that good at Chaser, can he?" Ok, fine, I admit it; I'm still a bit jealous. But come on! He's basically a troll disguised as a good-looking, talented Quidditch player.

"He is," Claire responds with Lily nodding.

"Wait, what?"

"A good player," my blonde friend responds. Oh, right, I didn't think out loud with the troll comment for once.

"Last year, he topped tryouts by a bloody landslide, but since our esteemed captain couldn't tell Quidditch skill if it smacked her in the face, he got skipped over," Lily mumbles.

"Then again, maybe Natalie made the right choice," Claire counters. "After all, the git's good at chucking a ball but if he throws a wrench into the whole teamwork thing, well…"

Lily sighs. "As much as I hate to admit it, it looks like James was right about him last year. My brother's too bloody noble for his own good, though, and I guess by skill alone the bloke deserves the spot."

I tense, remembering the conversation that I had overhead on Sunday after practice.

"Alex looked _furious_, maybe even angrier than James was earlier today," I add.

Claire just gives me a befuddled look before I remember that she was off with the rest of the Beaters when Alex had flown over during the Sunday drills.

"He was making some, er, distracting comments during Sunday's practice. Nothing too inappropriate," Lily mutters, leaving out the fact that _she_ was the target of said flirtation.

"Hmm, so I guess I wasn't there to see it," Claire states with a growing smirk. "Alex has always been a bit of an open book, especially when you're his sister. Remember when I used to tease him about Selene Baker?"

I can't help but burst into giggles, recalling the bug-eyed, jaw-dropped expression that Claire's brother had worn last year whenever the aforementioned gorgeous brunette had walked anywhere in sight.

"How could I forget? And to think that I used to complain about Frank's crushes; Alex definitely takes the cake for 'embarrassing older brother behavior,'" I add with a comically exaggerated moan. Claire sniggers in response.

Instead of a snide anecdote about James or Al's antics, however, Lily only gives a weak smile, looking unusually stiff before she motions toward the stands with a nod of her head. For some reason I'm reminded of our depressing girl chat on Monday night; maybe my best friend's still reeling from whoever the mystery bloke is. I remind myself to talk to Lily again later before I look toward the stands, where our leaders are standing. Time to get my game face on.

* * *

The match ends when James's whistle goes off, signaling that it's been half an hour already; neither Stephen nor Robert Purcell have had any luck with the Snitch, so it comes down to the goals. I'm usually pretty good at mentally keeping score, but this game's an exception: though Hill and Thomas aren't terrible Keepers, they're far from being Alex Wood, and with the presence of a talented starting Chaser on each team, the scrimmage had quickly become a goal-fest even with Claire and Grzegorz in the mix. I've managed to score three goals- around the same as Derek but definitely less than Lily. As for the opposition, Alvin Bennet put in more than half the shots; while Benjamin and Eileen were a coordinated duo, I had realized early on that ninety percent of the time they'd be counting on each other to pass, so it wasn't all that difficult to make a couple predictive steals.

"Alright," Alex's smooth voice rings out. "The far side wins, one-twenty to ninety. Nice interceptions, Longbottom."

Yes! That's right, I'm amazing. What can I say?

We touch down on the field, and James and Alex dismiss us shortly after. Everyone streams toward the locker rooms- thank Merlin they're open now- with Lily and I the slowest two.

"Hey, wait up," a voice calls out behind us.

We turn and there's James and Alex, a bit breathless from running to catch us before we enter no-man's land (the girls' locker room).

"I forgot to say: Lily, you played amazing as always," Alex states with a grin.

James fakes a pout. "Hey, stop feeding my little sister's enormous ego- ow!"

"Prat," Lily huffs after punching James on the arm, but she's smiling again, and not the forced type from earlier.

"Oh, and Alice, see? You're proving me right," James states, looking down to me. (Literally down- he's a bleeding foot taller than I am.)

"Thanks, but I've still got a long way to go. I'll be cheering you on from the stands tomorrow," I reply. Yes, I'm still a bit bummed from the fact that as a reserve, I'm not seeing play. What part of me being a petty person isn't clear yet?

"Well, the locker room's calling, so we should get going," Lily declares after a long silence. "A hot shower sounds really nice right now, doesn't it?"

I nod quietly and wave to James and Alex before Lily starts dragging me by my arm, and I swear that I could spot just a shadow of a blush on Alex's face.

* * *

It's well past four by the time I'm done, and Lily and Claire have already headed gone back to do Chekov's brutal homework; seeing as how they were the ones playing on Friday and not me. I pick up my broom to fly a casual lap or so around the pitch before heading back, but the moment I exit the locker room I realize that I'm an idiot; standing on the field are two tall figures with green-and-silver robes slung over their shoulders, surveying the pitch. A few steps closer and I recognize them as Ariadne Flint and Scorpius, respectively the Captain and Assistant Captain of the Slytherin team.

Yep, I've conveniently forgotten that we're not the only team that needs the pitch for practice; Lily had even mentioned early in the morning that the Slytherins had the field at five. To be fair, Flint's pretty early, even by Quidditch standards. I groan before hightailing it back past the locker rooms and toward the castle when I suddenly hear two voices coming from the boys' locker room.

"I said it's none of your business."

My eyes widen as I recognize that low, growling declaration. I berate myself for eavesdropping, but once again I'm glued to the spot by my own curiousity.

"None of my business? Merlin, James, I'm your bleeding _brother_." Oh shite, that's _Al. _I keep my hands over my mouth to avoid making so much as a squeak as I continue my illicit activity.

"It's not a big deal, it's just a few tryouts," our Captain defends. "Plus, I wasn't planning on going for either Appleby or the Cannons anyways, so I don't see why you're making such a bloody fuss."

"Don't give me that crap. I had to find out from one of Mum's letters, for crying out loud, that not only have you already been receiving offers in your mailbox since the start of the school year, but that you've _declined _them! Lily and I are your siblings; we have a right to know, damnit. When were you planning on telling us? A month later, maybe two? Graduation? Or after that?" Al's voice is a yell at this point, and I'm surprised

"No," James quietly replies. Oh, sweet hell, this was _definitely_ not a conversation for my ears, but being the terrible person that I am, I just can't get myself to walk away.

"You've always been a terrible liar, James, so let's cut the pretending. You're having cold feet about Quidditch, aren't you?" Al accuses.

Silence.

"Merlin, James, it's the hair thing all over again, isn't it?"

"For your information, I _like_ it this way," James replies, but even I can tell that he's far from confident.

"I look like a bloody clone of Dad, and Lily could pass for Mum at fifteen, but you? You used to love your _natural _hair until some wanker journalist wrote a bloody article or two about your resemblance to Dad, some drivel about both being Seekers and all that, and a couple weeks later, you're suddenly a fan of auburn, is that it? I might be in Slytherin, but even I can tell that you're being a bloody coward."

"What if I've decided that Qudditch isn't what I want to spend my life doing? Have you ever considered that?"

"Bullshit. I _know_ you, James. You've always been the one telling me and Lily about how one day you'd make a better Seeker than Krum and even Dom; you've always loved the sport more than any of us. Even when Mum had to stay in St. Mungo's for that nasty Bludger to the head, you've never let anything stop you from wanting to play professionally, and now you're telling me that after more than a decade's worth of hard work out on the pitch, you're considering giving up out of _nowhere_? What happened to the older brother who gave me a hand whenever I fell off my broom, who kept encouraging us no matter how many times Lil missed a shot or that I let one in? What happened to_ you?_"

"I grew up, that's what! People change, Al. You're just a sixth-year, you don't get it yet. You don't understand what it feels like when your life options are suddenly no longer a distant thing to consider and instead right in front of you. And just because you love to play the game doesn't mean that it'll translate to a fulfilling career in the professional scene."

A chill runs up my spine. Oh Merlin, what if James is right? What if my entire dream of adoring fans and high-speed star matches is just that- a dream? What if I'm not good enough? And even if I am, what if I get tired of Quidditch after a good decade or two of playing it for a living? Hell, even Lily and Claire aren't sure about their futures, and they have professional parents- not to mention actual _talent_.

"Enjoying ourselves?"

Wait, that wasn't either James _or_ Al. In fact, that came from…behind me?

I turn and nearly stumble in shock. The girl standing in front of me exudes confidence with every inch of her lean frame. She's commandingly built, easily as tall as Al, with neat black hair done up in a functional ponytail and an attractively aristocratic face complete with fierce dark-grey eyes. Yep, I've been caught snooping by none other than two-time Slytherin Captain Ariadne Flint, the instrument of Gryffindor's humiliation last year.

"This isn't what it looks like," I blurt, trying to not make enough noise to be heard over the continued argument between Lily's brothers. "Er, I mean, I'm not here to spy on your practice, if that's what you're thinking."

She just laughs softly. "Potter might be a prat, but he's too bloody honorable to send someone to spy on us. And even if you were, you'd make a bloody terrible spy, with a hiding place in plain sight. Although I will say that I'm surprised to see a Prefect, and a Gryffindor one at that, eavesdropping."

I furrow my brows before sneaking a glance down at my practice shirt.

"How'd you know that I'm a Prefect, or a Gryffindor for that matter? I don't have my badge on me."

"You're Professor Longbottom's daughter- Alice, right? Al's been mentioning you, something about shirtlessness and snogging, if I recall," she states with a grin.

I feel heat rushing into my reddening face, and my heartbeat practically doubles, and Flint just laughs. "That's not what happened at all! I- I just ran into him being a perverted git with his girlfriend," I stammer.

"He's right; you're adorable when flustered. By the way, you should hide, unless you want to explain to my Keeper and your Captain why you've been listening this entire time," she casually states, giving me a pointed look. I scramble toward the entrance of the pitch, hiding myself behind the entrance before I dare turn.

"Well, well, if it isn't James Potter," Flint drawls as James and Al emerge from the locker room, dressed in their full red and green robes, respectively.

"Always surprised to see me, _Ariadne_," James counters. "Did you come all the way to the lockers just to concede the Cup and get the embarrassment out of the way early this year?"

"Mm, it seems like someone's memory needs a refresher. Then again, I'd probably Obliviate myself too if I were on the dead last team."

"Do I look like Natalie Jameson to you?"

"Nope, I'd actually consider snogging Natalie. And by the way, I came here to strip starkers," Flint says with a wink, leaving a red-faced, sputtering James as she punches him lightly on the arm before strolling into the girl's locker room, cloak in hand.

* * *

**A/N: That's it for now, folks! As always, don't forget to review; if there's anything you'd like to see in PITM- be it particular story elements or general style and structure, let me know. Your words mean a lot to me, and if you've enjoyed my writing, I promise I'll enjoy your reviews more. **


	6. Game Day Ain't No Game

**Chapter Six: Game Day Ain't No Game**

**A/N: Another update! This time I come bearing some good news: I've got a good estimate of how long it'll take me, in both written words and blocks of time, to finish this story. Pitch It to Me will be a full-length fanfiction measuring 200,000 words at the minimum, and I plan to finish sometime between December 2014 to April 2015, depending on how my next school year goes, so buckle up; the ride's just getting started!**

**In this chapter, we're going to have a little one-on-one session with our resident Auror-professor-person, chat with a certain spunky second-year and company and witness a harrowing first Quidditch match of the year.**

**Disclaimer: GIVEZ HARRY POTTERZ TO USSS…MY PRECIOUSSSS…No? Drat, guess Jo Rowling isn't amused by Gollum imitations.**

* * *

"Five more minutes, Mum…Cauldron…opening…_yaaawn._"

"Al. Shirtless. Behind You."

I snap out of my sleep-induced stupor, expecting said scantily-clad git, only to be met by my best friends sitting on the edge of my bed. Claire's attempting to rein in her giggling (to little success), while Lily's just shaking her head with a bemused smile.

"Not funny," I grumble, feeling my cheeks redden. "And I know I said I wanted to wake up early to ask Teddy- er, Prof Lupin- a question, but I didn't mean _this_ early," I state with an emphatic gesture at the window. It's barely dawn, and I turn to check my dual clocks; yep, six-thirty.

"Alice, you had the alarm set for six-forty-five," Lily says, giving me her famous raised-eyebrow look.

"Hey, fifteen minutes of sleep can't be underestimated," I retort. "And if you two are already awake…Merlin, when did you get up?"

"About ten minutes ago," Claire remarks with a toothy grin. "And you, Lil?"

"Five-forty-five," my redheaded friend mumbles, stifling a yawn.

"_Five-forty-five?_" I'm pretty sure my jaw's on the ground by this point.

"I dunno, I have trouble staying asleep on the morning before a big match."

"Funny, Mum and Dad used to say the same thing- more or less- when they were still playing," Claire pipes up. "You sure you're Lily _Potter_, not _Wood?_"

Lily's eyes open to a nearly-comical wideness while Claire and I just look at her with matching confused expressions for what seems like an awkward eternity.

"Sorry, I tend to space out when I'm running on below-average sleep," Lily finally manages to blurt.

"Merlin, Lil, you look like Alice does when I mention Al shirtless," Claire remarks.

"Noooo," I groan. "We were having a civil conversation and you just _had_ to bring that up."

"Hey," Lily interjects. "At least he's not _your _brother. Merlin, that broom closet incident.." she trails off with a shudder.

"I wish I could have been there to see the look on Cassidy Finnigan's face," Claire snickers.

"Er, about Al…" I add. "I told you about how I ran into him practicing Muggle martial arts with Rose and Scorpius, right? Well, I had this idea." I mutter, and Lily and Claire stare at me with interest.

"Is it telling Finnigan to sod off before going to snog Al?" Claire inquires with a cheeky smile.

Both Lily and I do a double take. "No," I hastily reply. "I was planning to ask Rose to let me train with her."

"_What?"_ Lily exclaims. "Rose- Merlin, Alice, she's bloody mad when it comes to fitness. Al was already in top shape when he started going to practice with her, and he still had his arse bruised, beaten, and handed to him. And she's never let anyone other than Al and Scorpius train with her."

I cringe at the thought of Rose laying into me like she had done to Ingrid Rhys, but I quickly shake my head.

"I can't say that I know Rose as well as you do, but I don't think she'd let me train with her unless she thought I would be fine," I reply evenly. "And if she doesn't, well- it's worth a try if it means I might be able to play Quidditch like Al and Scorpius."

"Gotta agree with Alice on this one," Claire chips in. "Not saying you're out of shape, but _damn_ are those two fit," she says with a smirk.

Lily moans comically at the mention of Al before sighing. "Well, promise me that you won't become a fourth leg to the Trio, huh? The Quadrangle doesn't have quite the same ring to it," she says with a small smile.

"Never," I reply with a smile. "The three of us- we're a trio of our own."

"Damn right," Claire enthusiastically adds, thumping me and Lily on the back with her strong arms. Both of us sputter before breaking out into a laugh, and as my two best friends walk with me toward the Great Hall for breakfast, everything seems right with the world.

* * *

I make it to the Defense against the Dark Arts room with a good twenty minutes to spare, and I glance through the (nicely renovated) door window to spot Teddy Lupin at his desk, sipping a mug of coffee while reading the Daily Prophet with a raised eyebrow. Bugger, this seemed a lot less intimidating in my head; I take a few moments to collect myself before I enter the room.

"Ah, Alice," my professor announces without even glancing up from his paper. "You're here nice and early. Will this become a regular thing?"

"Er- I just wanted to ask a question, Professor," I state, still a bit shocked; how the hell did he know it was me? I mean, he hasn't so much as _looked_ at the door.

"Again, class hasn't started yet, so call me Teddy. And as to how I knew it was you: there's a few things you pick up working as an Auror. Take a guess," Teddy adds with a smirk.

"A detection spell? Classroom wards?"

He chuckles. "Nope, I peeked."

Oh. Well, that was obvious; guess I'm not as good as noticing surreptitious onlookers as I'd like to believe. Guess I'll have to ask Ariadne Flint for her secrets, seeing as how she caught me red-handed.

"So what were you going to ask?"

"It's a bit personal, and I'd understand if you don't want to answer," I start. Teddy simply nods, motioning me to continue. "It's about James and Al. I overheard them arguing yesterday and I wanted to know what Al meant when he said that James changed his hair color."

"Ah, that. I'll tell you if you first tell me why you want to know," my professor asks evenly, staring at me with inquisitive eyes.

"Well, they're Lily's brothers, and she's the closest friend I have. Besides, James is also my Quidditch Captain, and he seems really bothered by what Al said," I answer.

"Fair enough, I suppose. When I was younger, I used to stay at Harry's house really often, and James and I were like brothers. I wish I could say otherwise, but I wasn't the best influence when I was a teenager. Back then, I usually looked like this."

All of a sudden, Teddy's short blue hair transforms into a mass of spikes, arranged in a row down his head. My eyes widen a bit.

"James had always been fascinated by my Metamorphagus abilities, but when he was old enough to attract media attention, it got even worse. Back before he had his growth spurt, he looked just like Harry, and boy, the newspapers picked up on that."

Memories of a darker-haired James darting in and out of the Potter house flash through my mind; I had always figured that his hair had changed color naturally.

"So you're saying that he envied you for your shapeshifting and asked you to help him change the way he looked?"

"Precisely."

"But the saying about Metamorphagi-"

"Born, not taught. I told him the exact same thing, but he was so disappointed that he didn't feel like playing Quidditch with me, and he was always looking forward to that. So in a moment of weakness, I told him that there were Charms that could dye hair for an extended period of time and that they were quite simple to learn. Harry and Ginny didn't think anything of it at the time, but all the attention he got after starting at Hogwarts made it a thousand times worse. By then I had already graduated and started Auror training, so I didn't know much about his school life outside of letters from Victoire and Harry."

"What happened?" I ask, transfixed.

Teddy sighs. "To put it bluntly, from the moment his surname was announced at the Sorting, James had a ton of attention heaped on him, too much to be healthy for an eleven-year-old. He had admirers he didn't want and, consequently, envious enemies that he didn't need. The confident, easygoing bloke that you know today is the _real_ James, but when he was younger, that person was buried under a lot of fear- fear that he wouldn't be able to live up to Harry's name but also fear that he wouldn't be his own person. I've always believed that fear holds us back in everything, not just Defense; it's the whole reason I was a Gryffindor in the first place."

"So what did James do?"

"He Charmed his hair and did all sorts of disruptive stuff to get attention for something other than his name. If you think the pranks he pulls nowadays with Fred are bad, you should have seen him in his first year. Vic wrote in one of her letters that he alone cost Gryffindor a good two or three hundred points," my blue-haired teacher states with a humorous snort.

"And Lily knows about this?" I ask.

"Definitely. In fact, most of our close friends and family know- which is why I'm telling you this; between your dad's relationship with Harry and yours with Lily, I'd consider you practically family as well."

I'm both a bit relieved and disappointed at the same time- relieved that Teddy hasn't inadvertently revealed to me something that even his family members don't know but disappointed that Lily's never mentioned any of this to me. I mentally slap myself; after all, if I knew of any gnawing insecurity that Frank or my parents had, I wouldn't go around telling people either, even my close friends.

"And Al- why was he being such a git to James? Well, not that he's not a git normally," I add for good measure, and Teddy chuckles.

"As you've probably noticed, Al's a stubborn one. In fact, did either he or Lily ever tell you about how he ended up in Slytherin?"

"No, but I'd like to know," I respond, my curiosity trumping any measure of respect for private matters once again.

"It's a funny story, really, and I still take the piss out of Al about it. He'd probably yell at me for telling you, but I'm in a sharing mood today," Teddy states with a mischievous grin all too reminiscent of the teenager from my youth. "The long and short of it is that the Sorting Hat sensed that he was afraid of being put in Slytherin and offered to put him in Gryffindor like Harry, Ginny, and James had. Well, Al didn't exactly take kindly to that suggestion that he was just another Potter, so he told the hat to stuff it and put him in Slytherin."

It's ironic, really, dying of laughter in the middle of the Defense classroom.

* * *

The day's classes go fairly smoothly: Professor Lupin chooses to terrorize us with boring basic spells rather than with dead Dark Wizards today (to the relief of some and to the chagrin of others). Professor Chekov's being a hairy old arse as usual, and Potions with Professor MacMillan isn't much of a challenge given that my partner is Hugo, who still manages to handle the recipe while silently admiring his gorgeous brunette girlfriend, a fellow Ravenclaw whose name I didn't know. One exciting thing happens over the course of the day, in Transfiguration with Professor Linarejos; Cassidy Finnigan had decided that our tiny Spanish-born professor wasn't intimidating enough to avoid gossiping in the middle of class with Erin Finch-Fletchley, earning both of them detention to be served over the weekend, and I can't help but smile. Good riddance.

For all the problems that Simons's arrival has caused this year, there's one thing I'm incredibly grateful for, and that's the new and improved Quidditch program, complete with a new Friday schedule to accommodate said Quidditch program; by lunch, everyone's done with class for the day.

I reach the Great Hall at around eleven-thirty and promptly join the Gryffindor table; Friday's the only day where we're forced to sit at our own House table, another feature of our new Headmaster's ingenious plan. And for good reason- , all seven members of the starting Quidditch team are sitting at the far end of the table, along with Stephen, Jessica, Wilma, and two of the Reserve Beaters- Andrew White and William Keeton. Given that there are a good two thousand students in the hall, it's hard to make out what they're saying from a distance, but there's no mistaking the looks on their faces.

"Alice!" Lily shouts with a wave. I rush down to where my best friend is sitting and take a seat at the very end, across from a pensive-looking Stephen. There's at least three distinct conversations going around our part of the table, and people from the rest of Gryffindor are watching us eagerly.

Suddenly a wave of silence washes through the hall. I look up, and standing at the podium is a moderately slim man dressed in a long black robe with an ornamented round cap on his head. He's around fifty years old, with striking salt-and-pepper hair and eyebrows. But the most eye-catching aspect of the man's appearance is the fervent energy in his dark-brown eyes, fitting for a Headmaster.

"Welcome, my students, to the first Game Day of the school year. At two o'clock, I expect each and every one of you to join me out on the Quidditch pitch to watch the inaugural match of the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup, between Ravenclaw-"

Cheers erupt from the students seated at the blue-colored table.

"And Gryffindor."

I join my teammates in a raucous whoop.

"Best of luck to both teams, and may the spirit of friendly competition rule this day."

After Simons leaves the hall, James speaks up. "No matter what you think of Simons, he sure knows how to give a speech. So you lot listen up and give it your best out there, or I'll sic Alex on you."

Blink. Blink.

"Am I really not that intimidating?" Alex moans sorrowfully.

"Fine, I'll sic Rose on you lot. Better?"

Nod. _Nod nod nod._

"Anyways, let's go out there and kick some Ravenclaw arse," James concludes with a grin while Lily just rolls her eyes.

* * *

Whether it was intentional or not, today happened to be a great day for a Quidditch match, and I'm soon among the crowd of people streaming into the pitch under the warm sun. By the time I reach the stands, most of the Gryffindor section is full; I spot Wilma, Jessica, and Felicia sitting together in the second row, and in the fourth row there's Stephen flanked by Robert and Derek. I consider joining the latter group for a couple moments before a voice higher up the stands reaches my ears.

"Oi, Alice!"

I turn and quickly spot the source of the shout; Eileen, in all her gleeful energy, is standing up waving at me; next to her is a smiling Benjamin, who follows suit. Feeling a bit more daring and sociable than usual, I walk up the steps to take the empty seat by Eileen.

"Hey Eileen, Benjamin," I state with a genuine smile.

"Please, call me Ben," the blond boy responds.

"So I take it you two aren't just a duo on the pitch, then," I say with a considerable amount of innuendo in my voice.

Ben blushes profusely and attempts to sputter out some kind of a denial, earning him a playful elbow to the ribs from Eileen.

"We're close friends," the younger of the two states with her trademark impish grin. "Ever since last year, _preeeetty_ much inseparable, right Ben?"

Ben groans.

Eileen scoots closer to me and tells me in an exaggerated, conspicuous whisper, "Ben got his arse handed to him by that cow Jameson last year at tryouts. Back then I was just a first-year, but even I could see how much of a sorry bloke this one was, so I offered to practice with him, and here we are," she finishes with a superior smirk that Ben catches, and the third-year immediately buries his face in his face in his hands.

"Ei, you said you wouldn't tell people! I don't need anyone else knowing that story," he moans.

I snicker before turning to Eileen.

"So, are you two…um…" I trail off before leaning in to whisper, "_Just _friends?"

Eileen blinks before the meaning of my words sinks in, and for once, my ever-confident fellow Chaser looks a bit…gobsmacked.

"Um, yeah, that's it I guess. Well, I _might_ ask Ben to the Yule Ball, but that's more because he's a prat who can't properly ask any girls, so I'm saving him from date-less-ness," Eileen rambles. Ben's face resembles a tomato at this point, and I giggle again before it hits me. Wait, _what?_

"The _Yule Ball_?" I ask in disbelief. "Isn't that reserved for the Triwizard Tournament? My dad- Professor Longbottom- participated in one."

Eileen just shrugs. "My dad works at the Department of Magical Education, and he told me that there would be one this year."

"Wait, your dad… , as in _Lee_ Jordan, the DME Secretary? Dad mentions him all the time," I reply in disbelief.

"Yep, that's him," Eileen states with a casual shrug.

"And believe me, he's even more intimidating than Ei's making him sound- ow!" Ben exclaims as Eileen elbows him again.

"Prat," she huffs. "Ben stayed at my house over the summer, since his parents are some sort of rich Muggle business people who travel too much," Eileen explains. "And you do know that my dad was joking around when was being all scary and strict, right?" she asks, turning to Ben.

"Took me a while to figure that out," he mutters in response.

Suddenly, the crowd erupts into cheering, and I turn my attention to the field. The crackle of the Charmed microphone barely makes it through all the hubbub as I notice the players standing at opposite ends of the field, brooms in hand.

"Hello, Hogwarts! I'm Darren Finch-Fletchley, and I'll be your announcer on this very fine Friday afternoon," the amplified voice booms. "In today's opening match we have two very talented teams and one exciting clash to come, so let's introduce the players. Starting in the north side, we have _Ravenclaw!"_

The Ravenclaws burst into thunderous cheers as the rest of us clap politely, with a few jeers drowned by the enthusiasm coming out of the blue-decked section of the stands.

"Playing Beater are Joseph O'Reilly and Marie Fressinet," booms Darren as they stroll onto the pitch. I immediately register that the dark-haired girl, Marie, is none other than Hugo's girlfriend; Lily must not like her very much, seeing as how she's never mentioned the girl by name to me.

"In the Seeker position is Harriet Yount, and the Keeper is Jansen Noyes. And last but not least, Ravenclaw's Chasers are Alima Fairouz, Assistant Captain Rachel Corner, and of course, Captain Archer Davies. Give it up once more for the blue-and-bronze!"

More cheers, more polite clapping.

"And to your south, ladies and gents, is _Gryffindor_!"

I'm on my feet in a second, cheering along with pretty much everyone in our side of the stands; in particular, Eileen's high voice rings even louder than mine.

"Gryffindor's Chasers are Alvin Bennet, Lily Potter-"

My best friend's popular among the Gryffindor Quidditch fans; another huge wave of cheering follows Lily's name, and I'm screaming "Go Lily!" with all the force that my throat can muster.

"And Gilbert O'Connell. In the Beater position we have Grzegorz Dracik and Claire Wood," the announcer states, meeting another wave of cheers from around me, and again I find myself hollering Claire's name.

"Playing Keeper is Assistant Captain Alexander Wood, and the red-and-gold's Seeker is none other than Captain James Potter! Give it up for Gryffindor."

Well, I never thought I'd find myself being glad that the Death Eaters had burned down the pitch Lily's parents played on, but now's a good time; judging by Dad's stories, there weren't all that many students back then, and I'm pretty sure that with our stomping and noisemaking, the old wooden thing wouldn't stand a chance. Actually, I'm a bit afraid our steel stands are close to meeting their match too; we Gryffindors are a rowdy lot.

The players shake hands en route to their posts, and I won't lie; I'm already a bit nervous for my teammates. The brown-haired Archer Davies is the very picture of collected intelligence, and Rachel Corner's sharp brunette features exude confidence. Perhaps James might be underestimating them; after all, Davies and Corner weren't half bad, and they were also suffering from a shite Captain last year, and although I'm still wondering why Davies hasn't kicked Noyes yet, he looks like he knows what he's doing.

Madam Arlington blows the whistle as soon as the players are in position, and the starting flurry of action is extraordinarily violent, even for Quidditch. I notice that Corner, the opposing center, has managed to snatch the Quaffle over Lily, but my best mate's hot on her tail. O'Reilly, a hulking bloke with furrowed black brows, whacks a Bludger toward Alvin Bennet only to be denied by a stoic swing of Grzegorz's bat. Lily manages to close the gap on Rachel Corner, who passes to Archer Davies, who then drops it down to Alima Fairouz, a slim girl with some formidable flying skills. Despite a fantastic Bludger courtesy of Claire, the new Ravenclaw recruit dodges and ducks past everyone but our last line of defense- but boy is Alex a formidable Keeper. Fairouz looks a bit nervous, and understandably so; after all, going against arguably the best Keeper in one's first year on a starting lineup has to be tough. She takes a hasty shot at the left hoop, but Alex stops it effortlessly before tossing the Quaffle to Lily with a smirk.

"And a solid save by Wood! The game remains tied, zero apiece. Seekers Yount and Potter don't seem to have an eye on the Snitch just yet, but it's still early, and we'll have to keep watching," Darren's deep voice rings throughout the arena. "Now we look back at Chaser Potter- Lily Potter, that is; she's hurtling down the middle of the pitch with the Quaffle, looks to Bennet but instead chucks it upward! What is she- oh Merlin, there's O'Connell with the catch, and it looks like O'Connell and Bennet are making a break for Noyes, and Fressinet's the only one left in the way. She launches a Bludger- and it connects on a broom, but Alvin Bennet isn't the one with the Quaffle, folks! O'Connell's now in range, he shoots, he _scores! _Gryffindor leads by ten, but Davies doesn't look worried. Corner's got possession now, and the Ravenclaw leaders are zigzagging down the west side of the field with no intention of stopping anytime soon, but wait! Another amazing Bludger from Wood, and Corner drops the Quaffle, easily scooped up by Potter! She's faster than a hungry Hungarian Horntail as she makes her way past O'Reilly and Fairouz and takes a shot- and it's good, twenty for Gryffindor." By this point I'm elatedly screaming and clapping; while I might not be the one on the field, watching Lily and Claire play never gets old.

Play continues in a similar fashion for a good half hour and Gryffindor's up seventy-ten, with only a good Bludger from Fressinet screwing up Alex's defense once, but suddenly I notice James starting to drift toward the edge of the pitch.

"Potter seems to have spotted the Snitch! Yount still doesn't seem to have any idea, mostly due to a brilliant maneuver from the Gryffindor Captain; talk about subtle flying. He's now speeding up, and I think he's successfully thrown his Ravenclaw opponent off his scent, and he's rapidly closing in, but wait, a Bludger- oh no, Potter doesn't see it, and he's flying too fast and too high-"

I'm pretty sure that even if Voldemort himself were to tap me right now, I wouldn't be able to move. Lily would describe it as something out of a Muggle horror movie, watching the Bludger on its collision course. A cold fear runs through me, not from the actual events unfolding; I've seen players survive hits and falls from higher distances. No, that's not it at all.

I'm afraid because as the Bludger slams into James, I realize that this is what being a Quidditch player means. I'm afraid because for a selfish split second, the person on the broom is _me_.

* * *

**A/N: Apologies for the cliffhanger; I had originally planned to write the entirety of the match in this chappie, but Alice's conversations got wilder and more intriguing as I kept writing, so I ended up not having enough room. Don't worry, next chapter, we'll see the results. Oh, and **_**PLEASE **_**review if you have the time! Thanks again.**


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